A Deadly Game
by Lapis Rane
Summary: Discontinued. Harry's born a girl but registered a boy. Neville's the BoyWhoLived. And oh yeah, there're several more organizations involved in this war than anyone would have guessed. From assassin to leader of the "Rising Power," life's one deadly game.
1. Prologue

A/N: My favorite fanfictions have always been the ones that were so AU that they opened up a completely different world. This is just an attempt to add another one to those types of stories.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Summary: AU. Harry's born a girl but registered a boy. Neville's the BoyWhoLived. And oh yeah, there're several more organizations involved in this war than anyone would have guessed. From assassin to leader of "the rising power," life's one deadly game for Harry.

A Deadly Game

Prologue:

Lily's slender fingers moved to slowly caress her swollen abdomen. They were trembling with anxiety and just a touch of fear. "Can you... repeat that?" Oh please. Please let her have heard wrong. It couldn't be.

But then she felt her husband's tight grip crush her arm in a cry for support and she knew that she was not the only one who had heard those dreadful words. She had not heard wrong and it was once more confirmed as the ancient man before them repeated in a sorrowfully calm voice, "I have reason to believe that Voldemort will attack your child."

"No." The denial was a whisper that barely escaped her lips as she wrapped her arms protectively around her abdomen.

"Why?" The masculine voice was strained from beside her. She turned her head to catch her husband card his fingers through his messy mop of thick black hair.

"For reasons I cannot disclose," the old man responded sadly. "All I can tell you is that it is necessary for you to hide under the Fidelius Charm."

Lily sighed in defeat. "It's really serious this time, isn't it?"

"Yes. It is." Albus reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. It was the first time Lily and James had ever seen the great Albus Dumbledore show any signs of fatigue. He had always been the symbol of calm and confidence.

"Very well." Lily turned to face her husband. "James, let's talk to Sirius about being our secret keeper."

His handsome face was pinched. Lines on his face etched from the war gave him a mature and constantly weary look. The war had truly taken its toll on everyone. "Yes, let's call on Sirius as soon as we get back."

"You should leave now," said Dumbledore. "The sooner you go under the protection of the Fidelius, the better."

"Then good day, Albus." With that, the couple made their way out of the office, shoulders twice as heavy as when they had entered.

-------------------------

"THAT'S BLOODY RIDICULOUS!" Sirius's roar echoed through the entire manor.

The chair that Sirius had been occupying now lay sideways on the floor, a few meters away from where Sirius was currently standing. James and Lily Potter sat bonelessly on the couch across from Sirius. Lily's hands were once again playing with her abdomen.

"Albus has said that we need to hide under the Fidelius Charm," Lily continued anxiously.

"And we would like you to be our secret keeper," finished James.

Sirius paused mid-rant. "You want me to be your Secret Keeper?"

"Unless you don't want to?" James asked, eyes searching his best friends'.

"Of course I want to!" Sirius stalked up to the couch and flopped into the spare seat on the other side of Lily. He wrapped his arms in an uncharacteristically gentle manner around his best friend's wife. "We can't have our little Prongslet killed by that blood-thirsty demon, can we?"

"Yes." James reached over to grasp his friend's hand. "We were thinking of hiding in Godric's Hollow. What do you think? Hardly anyone knows of the place."

"That's definitely the best place. When are you guys going?"

"Now."

-------------------------

"Peter! How good it is to see you! I was just about to look for you." The dim lights of the wizarding bar made Sirius's features look even darker. He downed a glass of fire-whiskey and asked the bartender for another.

A mousy-faced man waded through the thick crowd to reach the bar. "Sirius, how are you? We haven't seen each other for weeks!"

"It's been horrible, Peter." Sirius spared his old friend a grin before downing the new glass of fire-whiskey before him. He moaned as it burned down his throat. Now that really hit the spot.

"Really? What's happened?" Peter's concerned voice was a whisper that barely made it through the light chattering of customers. Immediately, several people glanced in their direction.

"Let's go to... oh god, I can't believe I'm saying this, but let's go to my... house." Sirius slapped down a few galleons and pulled a wrapped chocolate frog from his pockets. Peter immediately set his hand on it as the portkey activated.

12 Grimmauld Place was a strongly fortified manor. It also happened to be extremely large and intimidating with archaic furniture. Those were, at least, Peter's thoughts as he examined the sitting room. Suddenly, a loud wail of "BLOOOOOD TRAIIIIITORS!!!!" interrupted Peter from his reverie. Loud, screechy, and high in pitch, the voice irked him to no end. Thank goodness, though, that it seemed to snap Sirius Black from whatever drunken stupor he had previously been participating in.

"Darn. That's me mum... or what's left of her." Sirius looked to Peter apologetically. "Never shuts up and permanently charmed to the wall. Horrible combination, I tell you." With that, the lord of the House of Black staggered into the hallway to draw the heavy velveteen curtains shut.

"Well, this must be awfully important for us to endure the most esteemed Walburga Black," Peter remarked casually as he placed himself onto one of the more comfortable looking chairs.

"It is. Abso-bloody-lutely horrible, I tell you." Sirius Black sunk gracelessly into a very hard-looking armchair by the gently burning fireplace.

"That's more than I can say for you. What've you been doing these past few weeks, going to Death Eater meetings?" Peter closed his eyes as he allowed the warmth from the hearth to slowly seep into his weary body that had, in fact, been suffering the Death Eater meetings that he had just accused his friend of attending.

"Wormtail! Don't even joke about that!" Sirius's eyes flew open as he glared rather viciously for a man slumped in an uncomfortable armchair.

"Sorry, sorry. It's just, these times aren't easy on anyone." Reluctantly, Peter opened his eyes to watch Sirius.

"Yeah, no one escapes the wrath of the War. You'd think it was the muggle world wars all over again. But listen, Wormtail, it's really serious this time."

"Oh?"

"James and Lily are being targeted by You-Know-Who. Albus says they should hide under the Fidelius Charm and I'm the secret keeper. But hell, I'm the first person anyone would think of when guessing their Secret Keeper. So, I'm passing it on to you."

"You-- what?!" Peter leaped from his chair. "You're making me the Secret Keeper? Let me tell you now. That is not a good idea."

"No, it has to be you."

"Why don't you ask Moony?"

"Because! No one would suspect you."

Peter narrowed his eyes. He knew exactly what that phrase meant. Of course, no one would suspect weak, talentless Peter Pettigrew of being the all important secret keeper for the heroic Potter couple. Then again, no one suspected weak, talentless Peter Pettigrew of being a Death Eater, either. Really, refusing the position of Secret Keeper was for their own good.

"I refuse. I have to go to Romania next week anyway. I'm actually busy these days."

"Perfect!" exclaimed Sirius, "Just accept it now and you can go off on your little vacation. No one would know the better."

"What part of no don't you understand?"

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Is there some specific reason why you can't?" Peter could tell the wheels in Padfoot's head were starting to turn.

"Of course not."

"Then that settles it!" Sirius exclaimed brightly.

"Well then. I guess that's how is. Just remember, Padfoot, you're the one who forced me into this."

"Yes yes, of course. I owe you one, buddy." Sirius chuckled merrily, his earlier grim mood disappearing completely as he reached into a cabinet for a bottle of brandy. Pouring two glasses full, he passed one to Wormtail. "To the Potters and the Pronslet!"

"To the Potters... and the Prongslet," Peter replied, expression oddly sorrowful.

-------------------------

"James," called a feminine voice.

"Lily," replied a masculine voice.

"Argh, don't take that tone with me, young man!" the first voice exclaimed.

"But Lily," the second voice complained, "you've been saying my name like that for the past twenty minutes. And you don't even say anything afterwards! You just bloody stare at the floor!"

"Language!" roared Lily. "Set a good example for your child!"

James sighed miserably. "The baby can't even hear me let alone understand me and my bloo-- bad language."

"Okay, James, I admit I'm being a bit moody," Lily sighed as she stretched herself out on the couch.

James snorted at the vast understatement. For the past week-- oh hell, for the past month, Lily had been nothing if not moody. It was like the pleasantness that had been a shocking but welcome surprise the first eight months of her pregnancy had come back full time to haunt him. The emotional volatile-ness that hadn't infected his wife had come full force during the last month, nine month's worth packed in one. Needless to say, James was having a very... trying month.

"James! There's nothing to do!" Lily finally cried as rubbed at her eyes. "We've been like this for what, 4 months? I'm a pregnant woman, for god's sake! I need to move, damn it!"

"Language," James mocked.

"ARGH! JAMES HARRISON POTTER! YOU ARE GROUNDED!"

"You can't ground me! I'm your husband, not your bloody son."

"What's the freakin' difference! Neither of you allow me to goddamn move!"

James sighed. "Lily. We need to get used to this."

"Yeah," Lily exhaled, feeling oddly more fulfilled after her venting. "I mean, we only have to endure this for what, an undeterminable length of time?"

"But on the bright side, you'll be able to walk instead of waddle soon."

Lily brightened at this. "You know what, that's true. Things are going to improve. With our child by my side, I'll be so busy I won't even notice that I'm trapped in a goddamned manor."

"Yes," said James, "and speak of the devil. Your dress is getting wet. Is your water breaking?"

Lily glanced down calmly. "Yes, I do believe it is. What do you know? You actually know more about this stuff than me. Too bad I'll be the one popping the child out."

Suddenly, the enormity of the moment sunk in on James. "Oh my bloody god! You're giving birth! We need the Saint Mungo's personnel! Fire call the healer!"

Lily moaned in pain as the baby shifted inside her. "A bit busy here, James. I think you should fire call Healer Andrews."

"You're right!" And James ran out of the room in a panicked state exclaiming, "Fireplace! Fireplace! Where's the bloody fireplace?!"

-------------------------

Thirty minutes and three failed fire calls later, Lily was safely delivering and James was safely sitting... far far away from the bed. A loud groan pierced the air as the baby finally came out.

"We've got it! The baby's been successfully delivered." The voice of the St. Mungo's nurse, Bedelia Andrews, was a welcome reprieve for James Potter who was currently sitting in the family room, face buried in hands.

With a leap that would have put a kangaroo to shame, James spurted out of his armchair and sprinted into the master bedroom.

Healer Andrews stood, arms wrapped around a naked babe, gently rocking it back and forth. When she saw James, she motioned for him to come closer. "It's a girl," she whispered softly, as if confiding a great and terrible secret.

James studied the tufts of black hair atop the baby's head and his hand moved slowly, almost reverently, to caress the baby's cheek. "She's beautiful," he whispered back, barely able to believe that this was not merely a dream; that he was truly a father.

"Oh do go on and hold her, James," came Lily's cross but happy voice. "She's not going to bite."

Finally, after much hesitation, James took his daughter into his arms. It was then that the baby opened her eyes to reveal the greenest pair of eyes that he had ever seen. "Bloody hell, Lily, her eyes are even greener than yours!" he couldn't help but exclaim.

Lily smiled at the sight. Her husband with their child. It was absolutely perfect. Now, if only Voldemort wasn't out to kill them all. "Wrap her up in one of the towels over there. Take the green one, since you think her eyes are so green." She vaguely motioned to where five sets of different colored towels stacked upon each other.

Slowly, James walked over to Lily and handed her the naked child. "I'll go get the towel now. I'm afraid I'll drop her with one hand." And he rushed off obediently to retrieve the green towel.

"Goodness," Lily whispered as the baby blinked at her, "her eyes really are very green." Then, the baby's face crinkled into the biggest and most endearing grin she had ever laid eyes on. "And she's so adorable!"

Soon, the baby was wrapped and resting in Lily's arms. James sat next to her, arms wrapped around his wife. It was a very warm family moment.

"I'm sorry to cut in on this... moment," Healer Andrews said tentatively, "but we really must get the paperwork done."

"Oh... yes," the couple replied simultaneously.

"And um...," Healer Andrews paused for a moment, unsure of how to phrase the next sentence, "your daughter's a squib."

Three sets of wide eyes turned on the poor healer. "My deepest condolences," the healer offered as she drew a large piece of parchment from thin air and scribbled something onto the paper.

Lily sighed as she absorbed the information. "For gender, put down male," she ordered firmly as she gathered herself.

"What?" said the healer.

"What?" asked James.

"Put her down as male. And for her name, it's Harrison James Potter, or Harry Potter for short."

The baby chose this moment to gurgle her laughter and interrupt the silence that followed.

"...Why?" Healer Andrews asked after recovering from shock.

"She will be raised as a boy. If Voldemort's going to be after her and she's a squib, I won't have her gender used as a further weakness against her," Lily reasoned calmly.

The healer looked unsure but did as Mrs. Potter asked. James and Lily signed the papers and it disappeared, sent to be processed into the official catalogues.

As the healer left the room, the last thing she heard was an apology followed by "Obliviate," and then, she was at her house, happy with a job well done on birthing the new Potter son. Harrison James Potter indeed. What a beautiful name for a beautiful baby boy.

-------------------------

"Lily, was that really necessary?" James asked as he paced before the fireplace. Sometimes, he just could not make out the way his wife's mind worked. He had always known she was infinitely more clever than he was, but just how far into the future did her dark mechanisms spread? Oh god, now he was talking like his wife was the Dark Lord! It must've been that trait of his that Lily always complained about: fearing what he did not know or understand.

"Of course it was necessary," Lily replied. "It was necessary from the moment Harry's gender was put down as male. It was necessary from the moment Harry came out to be a girl."

"I thought you wanted a daughter!" James exclaimed, exasperated. Who had been the one ranting about how daughters were infinitely more accommodating and fun than sons? Why Lily, of course! The very same Lily who decided to change her daughter's gender on the official records!

"That was before Albus told us our child is going to be targeted by the powerful Dark Lord Voldemort!" Lily resisted the urge to scream out her frustrations. "Do you think I want our child to go through this? Do you realize that we may not make it through this?" Her voice broke off as she blinked her eyes to keep from crying.

"Lily." James was pained. He had never really thought about the whole Dark-Lord-Targeting-My-New-Born-Daughter business, but it figured that his intelligent lily flower had. "I admit I haven't really thought this whole thing out, but was it really necessary to twist the gender on the birth records?"

"Yes, it is. Don't you see, James?" Lily asked, gathering her courage. "We could die protecting Harry. And then where would she be? Parentless! An orphan! It'll be a miracle if she even survives!"

"Now Lily, let's be optimistic. If we don't believe we will survive, we won't."

"I'm being realistic, James. But supposing we die... and Harry lives. If she ends up on the streets or some equally horrifying place, do you realize what a disadvantage being a girl is?"

James was beginning to see. "You mean... ?"

"Yes, Harry could be subjected to a multitude of torture that she would not have to go through if only she were a boy. This is for her safety. Because of our situation, we must plan for the future. Harry must live. I refuse to lose my child before I lose my life. James, are you prepared to make the same commitment?"

The enormity of the situation was sinking in on James. "Yes," was his strained response. Why had he not thought about this stuff before? He should have been there to discuss this with Lily and share the burden! For god's sake, it was his bloody child as well that Voldemort was trying to off. And if he had anything to say about it, his Harry would not be offed! Suddenly, he had a moment of insight. "Err, even if the documents say Harry's a boy... won't she eventually grow up to... not look like a boy?"

Lily sighed. Yes, that was going to be a big problem and was part of the reason why the whole thing was such a big gamble. "This is Godric's Hollow, correct?"

"Yes," said James, not seeing where she was taking this.

"And as the manor that once belonged to Godric Gryffindor, I should hope that there's something in this damned place that could solve our problems."

James looked like he wanted to fall over or bang his head repeatedly on a desk. "You bet it all on this?"

Lily had to admit, the chances weren't all that exceptionally high, but hey, the rest of the plan seemed sound.

"What in the world happened to your bloody brilliant planning that always managed to sneak us past Lord Death?!" James exploded in frustration.

"Well hey," Lily replied defensively, "Sometimes, we just have to depend on luck. Besides, if this doesn't work, we can always turn to Albus as a final resort."

"You're right," James heaved a great sigh. "Well, I think I'll just look around the manor for secret trapdoors and the like and hope I stumble upon the artifact room or something."

"Yeah, you go do that," Lily waved her hand ambiguously as she tried to smother a yawn. "I think I'll just sleep for a while. Let me tell you, childbirth is no easy feat. You know what, I think we should make you have the next baby with that new potion they just invented, changing the male body temporarily to produce babies."

"You can't make me." James narrowed his eyes childishly. "I shall not go through the same pain!" he declared.

"Didn't you swear to go through sickness and pain with me during our wedding, or does that not count?" Lily countered with a childish expression herself.

"Of course it counts. But when I made the oath, I was thinking more of sitting there watching you and toiling through your pms while you did all the work."

"James!"

"Gotta go!" James whipped out of the room. His voice could still be heard from the hallway, "Finding artifacts and all that, you know!"

----------

Lily awoke to the blinding sunlight that poured in through the huge window across from her bed. Bloody hell, she couldn't believe she forgot to draw the blinds. Now that she was awake, she was sure she wouldn't be able to fall asleep until the sun set again. Really, a woman who had just given birth should get at least a full 48 hours sleep afterwards. It just wasn't fair.

With a heady groan, Lily swung her legs to dangle over the edge of the bed, toes barely touching the floor. She really hoped her muscles hadn't shrunken to prunes while she had waddled around in her pregnancy. Taking a deep breath, she leaped bravely to her feet... and almost promptly fell back onto the bed. Merlin she was sore! Although it really was amazing how she felt so light without the burden of another human being inside her.

A cute chortle brought her attention to the wrapped figure laying on the pillow next to the one she had formerly occupied. Her expression softened as she regarded the human being that she had created with James without external aid. It was simply amazing, this miracle of nature. As if noticing her wandering scrutiny, tiny dark lashes fluttered open to reveal the large emerald eyes that had haunted her sleep the night before. They really were greener than her own.

Suddenly, the baby burst out into a full blown smile and regarded Lily with such an adoring expression that she couldn't help but feel her heart melt. This was the child that had come from her womb. Her child. Her little miracle. Their little miracle that Voldemort wanted to murder. She could feel her expression darken at the thought as she scooped the child into her arms. There was no way any old Dark Lord was going to come and murder her charming little baby.

"Merlin!" A familiar voice from the doorway brought her out of her musings. "You're up already?" Lily already knew who it was by the time she felt an arm slip around her waist. "I could have sworn you would've slept for another 36 hours."

"The curtains," Lily offered as an explanation. James knew she couldn't fall back asleep once she was awoken by the dreaded sun.

James settled his chin upon Lily's auburn head and peered down into the hypnotic viridian orbs that were his daughter's eyes. He studied the small quirk of the small lips as the baby smiled at him. "You know," he drawled to his wife, "I don't believe I've heard her cry."

Lily stepped out of his embrace and regarded him seriously. "You're right. Aren't babies supposed to cry when they're born?"

"I think so. It might have been in that blasted manual the healer gave us."

The red haired woman rolled her eyes. "Yes, the manual might have mentioned it."

"But why's a baby supposed to cry at birth? It makes no sense. And if it makes no sense, then no baby of ours has to do it." He regarded his wife with a mock serious expression on his face.

"No, the baby is supposed to cry because it helps them moisten their eyes to get used to the light outside the mother's womb," said Lily.

James rolled his eyes as he prepared himself for another "learned and necessary speech" but drew back shortly as he realized, "Harry didn't cry but she opened her eyes just like that. It was like father takes baby. Baby opens eyes. No tears, no crying in between."

"Well, I'm betting it's something that's happened before. I guess it's just unusual. If it were something terrible, I'm sure Healer Andrews would have told us," Lily replied, satisfied at the moment with her answer.

"Was that before or after you obliviated her?" James teased.

Lily rolled her eyes but when she spoke her voice was serious, "It was necessary."

"Yes yes, I get that. Our first priority is our child's life. And if preserving it must bring us to despicable means, then by all means, we must."

Lily rolled her eyes again. "It wasn't despicable."

"Oh yes, we only erased the memory of the charming woman who helped you through childbirth. It's the epitome of good manners."

"Okay, so maybe it wasn't so moral. But it didn't hurt anyone either. And sometimes, I guess we just have to choose what's more important for us."

"Yeah yeah. I'm not trying to give you a guilt trip Lils, I'm just teasing."

"I know. But it just happens to bring up the implications of what we just did... and what we may have to do in the future."

"Oh god," said James, paling, "I sincerely hope we don't have to do anything truly evil."

"Me neither James, me neither."

"You know what, Lils, time for a change of topic. We're getting all gloomy and old from this talk."

"Ha, only you would think about how the situation makes us age. Still as vain as ever, I see, Mr. Potter."

"Yes well, you're the fool who married him, Mrs. Potter."

Lily scrunched her nose as she replied, "I suppose I am."

"On the other hand," continued James, "the vain fellow you married just happened to locate the vault of strange and unusual artifacts where he thinks the brilliant fool of a witch named after the lily flower may perhaps find something of use to our dear little Harry-kins."

"Oh James! You found it?!"

"Yep, just took me all of twenty minutes, I tell you. Found the secret passageway as I punched a portrait."

"You punched a portrait?"

"Yep," James replied brightly, completely unfazed. "It was bloody annoying, I tell you. And good thing too. Never saw it coming, Lils, I just punched him in the tummy because you know, I wanted to punch him where the sun don't shine but I thought since we just had a baby, I should be gathering some good karma and all so I veered upwards a bit at the last moment. Then all of a sudden, the portrait swung open like a bloody door. Almost hit me in the nose, it did."

"It would have served you right if it did," Lily mumbled under her breath. Then in a normal voice, "I will overlook your behavior today, James, because you managed to find the vault."

"You are most generous, Professor Potter," James grinned. He sauntered over to the open door and bowed grandly as he swept his arm towards the hallway. "Please, the most esteemed and beautiful Professor Potter. Ladies with babies first."

With a playful scowl, Lily scoffed at him as she briskly walked past.

----------

It turned out, you didn't have to punch the portrait of Zachariah the Great to open the door. In fact, all one had to do was gently tap the thirteenth button of his coat. Thankfully, this particular portrait of Zachariah had not been blessed with the gift of motion as it was a purely muggle painted piece of art. Nevertheless, its sheer size made up for mobility as it magnified the condescending stare of Zachariah the Great exponentially. It was no wonder the equally arrogant but much smaller in size James Potter had been offended by that omniscient gaze of the impressive man in the painting.

The vault itself was wonderfully large. If Lily had anything to say about it, she would suggest that it was just about the size of the great hall of Hogwarts. Of course, this was all discovered after James revealed his rather rare-surfacing genius.

"And low and behold, my Lily-flower, the vault of strange and antiquated artifacts of Godric's Hollow!" James announced with a flourish as the couple had entered the chamber.

All Lily saw was a dusty little closet. A couple of mops and buckets lay against a wall.

"Very funny, James," she groused.

"Uh-uh-uh, my intelligent Lily flower. Look up," James responded, tone laced with Marauder arrogance for discovering something his admittedly cleverer wife hadn't.

And look Lily did. Gold and red scripted characters formed a single sentence: If you are of Gryffindor blood, prove it to my vault. Her mouth formed an 'oh' as she pondered the phrase. "So, James," she finally said, "how do you plan to prove it?"

"Easy," bragged the Gryffindor heir. He bit his thumb and smudged the blood against a wall.

Lily winced as her husband's bloody thumb came in contact with the filthy wall. "That's a bit... gross, James."

Suddenly, the walls seemed to expand and the cleaning supplies vanished. When the chamber finally finished morphing, torches all along the walls abruptly lit up, giving the stone chamber a warm golden glow. Small piles of objects littered the floors and in the middle of the room, there was a large, large tome the size of a small desk.

"Isn't it bloody awesome?" James murmured as he admired the grandeur for a second time.

Without a word, Lily handed the child to her husband and stalked to the freakishly large book lying in the center of the room. After flipping through a few pages, she looked up to see James still standing at the entrance. "Come here, James. This book is exactly what we needed. It's the most complete guide to magical artifacts I've ever seen!" exclaimed Lily with bright eyes.

James hurried over to gaze at the book over his wife's shoulders. "Think you can find something we could use?"

"Yes, searching, searching." Then, after a moment, "I think I found something!"

"Yes?"

"Water silk. As long as the person is wearing the water silk, he or she will always look like a male relative or ancestor on the paternal side. The ancestor is usually the one whose personality matches the most with the user of the water silk."

"So you mean my daughter may spend her whole life looking like me?"

"I certainly hope she doesn't look exactly like you. It'll drive us all crazy, a James look-alike with the awful personality!"

"What's wrong with my personality?"

"It's too peace disturbing; loud and obnoxious."

"Why Lily-flower, I always knew you liked loud and obnoxious. Did you know, this whole loud and obnoxious personality was all an act to get you to marry me?"

"Damn. And I fell for it?"

"Completely."

"Then I guess I just have to file for a divorce now that I know the truth."

"Aw come on, Lily-flower, I promise to keep up my act all through our life until we're so old and wrinkled it won't matter anymore."

"That was... oddly romantic."

"Old and wrinkly is romantic? Women..."

"Ugh. For once you say something right and then you have to go and ruin it."

"So you mean the 'old and wrinkly' thing I said was bloody awesome and you'd like to hear more of that type of stuff?"

"Well, when you say 'that type of stuff,' it really gets me worried about what exactly you think falls under the category of 'that type of stuff.' So, it wasn't 'bloody awesome' and there is no need for you to make any hazardous attempts at resurrecting that 'oddly romantic' phrase."

"No, it was bloody awesome. But it'd be more bloody awesome to have a kid that looks exactly like me."

"You'd think so."

"Well, let's look for the water silk then. I hope we'll find some here. James look-a-like, here we come!"

The next five hours were spent searching through piles upon piles of strange artifacts. James, skillfully balancing a baby in one arm deftly sifted through the piles at an impressive speed. Harry, starting to get bored, began to swipe at the wand in James's sleeves. Finally, she managed to grab it... and then drop it with a loud tink.

"Harry," whined James, "my wand!" He bent to pick it up while Lily laughed from a pile a few meters away.

"Wait, that's it!" exclaimed Lily.

"What's it?" asked James.

She took out her wand and said, "Accio water silk."

From the other side of the room, a long strip of white cloth flew into her open hand.

"Whoa, that's bloody brilliant," said James. "Damn, how come we didn't think of this before? We even skipped lunch!"

"I guess we were just too into it that we forgot we had magic. I really do feel quite stupid right now," mused Lily as she stood up to stretch out the kinks in her back. "Ah, time for a nice dinner. We certainly deserve it, if not for our stunning intelligence, then for our toiling efforts."

----------

"You sure this is really gonna work?" James asked dubiously as his wife set little Harry on the bed.

"You're right. We should test it out first," decided Lily. "Here." She handed the water silk to James. "Go put it on in the bathroom."

James rolled his eyes. "Fine fine."

When James came out the bathroom again, his eyes were grey and his hair a dark brown. Lily looked a bit startled. "Is that really you? James?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's me. I think this is my great great grandfather Albert. His portrait should still be in Potter Manor. He was said to be extremely stubborn and a bit of a bully. However, he had a great sense of humor."

Lily scrutinized him for a moment more before declaring, "Yes, it definitely works."

"This is bloody amazing!!"

"Yes, it is rather amazing," Lily admitted. "Even your voice sounds different."

"Really?" asked James. "It doesn't sound different to me."

Lily walked closer as her eyes widened. "Hey James, take off your shirt."

"Oh come on, Lily. Harry's in here. We shouldn't snog until she falls asleep."

"No you dimwit," sighed Lily, exasperated. "I want to see if I can see the water silk on you."

"Oh," said James. "Well, why didn't you just say so?"

He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off. With a glance at his torso, he said glumly, "I can see the water silk. I don't think this will work very well. I mean, it won't be long for people to figure out there's something wrong if Harry never takes her clothes off in front of other people."

"Oh it'll work," said Lily with a wide grin. "Because I can't see the water silk. It seems no one can see through the illusion except the person wearing it."

-------------------------

Albus sat in his office, rubbing his temples. It had to be one of the most stressing time periods in his life. Lord Voldemort was at the height of his power. Devastation wreaked the citizens of the magical community and even threatened the muggles. The Order of Phoenix was slowly, but surely losing members and even the aurors were dying off at rapid speeds, courtesy of Voldemort. And dare he think it, Voldemort was going to win.

Fortunately, there had been a prophecy about a child who could potentially destroy Voldemort. It was the silver lining of the cloud that was the Dark Lord's oppression.

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..._

_born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..._

_and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not..._

_and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..._

_the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..._

July, the seventh month, had gone and passed. The child was born and now lived. The hope of the wizarding world. No, perhaps the hope of the whole world. And now there were two such children that fitted the description for the Longbottoms and the Potters had both defied Voldemort three times and gave birth to sons. He would know; he had checked all the birth papers.

Unfortunately, Severus Snape had overheard Sybil Trelawney give the prophecy and told Voldemort.

Fortunately, the same Severus Snape had then turned to him, seeking protection for Lily Potter. Now, both families were safely under the Fidelius Charm. Or at least, as safe as could be. It was not a foolproof plan and Albus was almost positive the Potters had assigned Sirius Black as their secret keeper. That just meant Voldemort could probably guess that too. He did not, however, have any clue as to who the secret keeper for the Longbottoms was. Perhaps that was more reassuring? Or perhaps it was worse. He really didn't know at this point.

It was time to let Fate play out.

-------------------------

He lounged in his blood red armchair, reveling in his recent success. Just a bit more. Just one more big leap. And then-- and then the world would be his.

A glass of red wine tilted just a centimeter and the crimson liquid swiveled, producing tiny shimmering ripples. Yes, there was one thing that was not right. All was not perfect. His faithful servant, Severus Snape, had just come to him with a prophecy some weeks ago; and not just any prophecy, the prophecy that foretold his defeat! It seemed a child with powers equal to his would come into the world. This could not be allowed to happen.

According to the prophecy, the child would be born in late July to parents who had thrice defied him. At the moment, only two couples fit the last condition: the Longbottoms and the Potters. And it just so happened that both couples were expecting a child in July or August. Now the only thing he had to do was figure out which was the child of prophecy and kill it... or, he could just kill both of them to save on time and effort. They were both currently under the Fidelius Charm, a very annoying piece of spellwork.

Now, the Longbottoms, their secret keeper wasn't hard to hunt out at all; a snivelling idiot who had given the information at the first threat of pain. He had Crucio-ed then killed the man anyways.

The Potters, on the other hand, were a completely different matter. It was likely that the secret keeper was Sirius Black, but his minion, Wormtail, had yet to return from the investigation. He was getting impatient.

A knock on the door.

Tipsy, the resident house elf, popped out before him. "A man is wanting to see Master," she announced. "He be calling himself Wormtail, Master."

With a flick of his hand, he signalled for Wormtail to be brought before him. Soon enough, heavy footsteps were heard and a pudgy young man emerged from the dark corridors. A deep bow and the man spoke, "My Lord, I have found the Potters' secret keeper."

"And where is he?" asked the man in the armchair, faintly dismayed that the secret keeper had not been captured.

With a slight wince that most people wouldn't have noticed, Wormtail spoke solemnly, "I am the secret keeper."

Calculative red eyes took note of the faint gesture and almost sparkled with humor at Wormtail's words. "You are the Potters' secret keeper?"

"The secret keeper was, at first, Sirius Black, but he passed the job on to me."

"How... clever of him," the Dark Lord mused, laughing internally at the irony.

"My Lord, as the secret keeper, I now inform you that the Potters are hiding at Godric's Hollow."

"Thank you, Wormtail. You have done well, even though it was mostly luck. Luck," he paused, "is a skill."

"You are most gracious, My Lord."

"Very well, if there is nothing else, you may leave."

With one last bow, Peter Pettigrew walked out of the manor, suppressing the shudder that threatened to shake his entire frame. Whatever was being planned, it was not good, and the tiny ball of guilt inside his heart suddenly swelled as he apparated away.

The Dark Lord took one long sip from glass, savoring the flavor, then abruptly set it down on the table beside him. With both locations uncovered, it was time to call in his most trusted followers. There would be bloodshed on Halloween.

And then, he would be unstoppable.

-------------------------

It was the night of Halloween and Harry Potter was 15 months old. She currently sported the hazel eyes and dark brown hair of her great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather Alexander Potter.

"That smile!" Lily squealed as she buried her grinning face in the stomach of her child.

"I'd rather see yours," said James, "but seeing as how you're burying it in my daughter's tummy, I guess I'll just have to wait for the next one."

"Are you still trying the 'romantic' thing?"

"Is it working?"

"No. When it's dote-on-my-daughter time, it's dote-on-my-daughter time. Lame attempts at sweet-talking are only annoyances."

"Do you.." James paused dramatically for effect. "Love her more than me? Am I being replaced?!"

"Of course--"

Lily never got to finish her sentence. A large crackle resounded through the house as the wards were broken down.

"Lily." The expression on Jame's face hardened into austerity no one had ever seen on him before. "I'll go down and face him. Harry will live."

Lily reached out to bring him into one last kiss, but he pushed her away. "No, Lils, we're not going to kiss goodbye because this isn't goodbye."

And his back was the last thing Lily saw before turning to take her child into her arms.

She hurried into the study down the hall and brushed back the giant tapestry that hung behind the armchair. A kick to the wall opened an entrance and she wasted no time continuing down that passageway. At the end, a small stone chamber glowed in warm yellow candlelight. Lily leant against a wall and closed her eyes, all the while squeezing her daughter to her chest.

Footsteps echoed through the passageway and bounced into the stone chamber.

Lily opened her eyes, desperately hoping to see her husband's grim but smiling face. Green eyes met red and she knew James was dead. Her chest clenched tightly with sorrow. Grimly, she removed herself from the wall.

"Girl." The voice was smooth velvet. "Hand over the child and you need not die."

"No." Lily stared into the hypnotic red eyes as she clutched her child closer to her busom. "Not Harry."

"Girl! You don't have to die. Just give me the child."

"No, not Harry. Anyone but Harry! Take me instead, if you must."

"Girl," the Dark Lord warned a last time, his voice taking up a tone of disgust. "Hand over the child."

"Not Harry. Anyone but Harry. Not Harry. Anyone but Harry." It was becoming a mantra and her eyes were becoming frantic. There was a wild glint in the emerald orbs as they stared pleadingly at the Dark Lord Voldemort.

"Foolish girl," roared Voldemort, face full of fury. "Avada Kedavra."

And a beam of green light hit the auburn haired witch straight in the stomach. She dropped to the floor, all the while clutching her silent son.

Those hazel eyes stared into endless red, expression curious. The child lay unmoving in its mother's grasp, lying on its side. Tiny lips stretched into a lazy smile as it closed its eyes and snuggled into the arms warmly enwrapping it.

"Avada Kedavra."

Another green beam. It slammed into the child's forehead... and promptly bounced off. Crimson eyes widened in surprise as his own spell flew ever closer and struck, dissembling his body into ash.

The last things the Dark Lord's soul saw before floating away were stunning green eyes and a lightning bolt shaped scar.

----------


	2. The Dursleys and Life on the Streets

A/N: And so the story begins...

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Summary: AU. Harry's born a girl but registered a boy. Neville's the BoyWhoLived. And oh yeah, there're several more organizations involved in this war than anyone would have guessed. From assassin to leader of "the rising power," life's one deadly game for Harry.

A Deadly Game

One:

Her earliest memories were of a dimly lit chamber with walls of creamy gold. There wasn't a single window and the solitary entrance or exit was a trapdoor on the ceiling. The room itself was of an average size... for a library. Later on, she reflected that that's what it must have been: a library, for there were shelves upon shelves lined against the walls, each facing different directions but strangely interconnected. It was almost like a maze. And in the center of the room, the shelves cleared just enough space for a large bed.

The first couple of years after her parents' deaths were spent on that bed. A radiant little baby yet to become toddler, her closest companion had been an elderly house elf. Everyday she would go to sleep under the watchful eyes of the elf and every morning she would wake to the dear, wrinkly face.

She took her first step on that bed. She spoke her first word on that bed. She even had her first nightmare on that bed. Nightmares of not the day her parents ceased to exist, but of waking up in the golden room with no one there. All alone. And in those years, the house elf was all she had.

The house elf was the one who taught her to speak. The house elf was the one who read her bedtime stories of witches and wizards and their adventurous escapades. The house elf was the one who had changed her diapers and later on, potty-trained her. The house elf was the one who taught her how to read, write, sing, dance, and the house elf was the one who celebrated her birthdays with her.

In fact, the house elf had taught her everything she knew by the time she was four.

And her fourth birthday was a day she would never forget. Ever.

She had woken from her slumber that day with a lazy smile to see her guardian elf standing oddly at the edge of the bed. "Selbby," she had murmured, half asleep, lips still upturned in a warm smile.

"Master Harry Potter is four today," the house elf had murmured back, stiffly cold.

"It's my birthday?" she had immediately perked up. "Will we be having cake like last year?"

"Yes. Master Harry Potter is to be having cake today."

"Selbby," Harry giggled, "you're talking in that funny 'house elf' way again."

"Master Harry Potter is to be old enough to be on his own now. Selbby is to be leaving."

"Are you busy?" Harry had asked, all signs of laughter gone without a trace.

"Selbby is not to be returning to Master Harry Potter."

Harry stared at the house elf in horror, a strange wave of emotion gripping at her chest. "You... you won't be coming back?" She didn't know why, but her throat felt tight. Was she coming down with the flu?

"Master Harry Potter is to be taking care of himself. There is much for Selbby to be doing in Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts--?" she had inquired, only to be cut off as a giant cake appeared on the edge of the bed.

"Take care, Master Harry Potter," Selbby had said, and with a pop, disappeared out of her life.

Harry had sat up in shock as everything sank in. Her birthday cake still lay on the edge of the bed. Selbby was gone and would never return in order to go and do work at this... Hogwarts place. And for some unknown reason, the feeling in her chest tightened and her nose tingled at that thought. Then, all of a sudden, drops of moisture suddenly leaked from her eyes. And she didn't know what to do, so she just sat there, staring at the chocolate cake through moist and blurry eyes.

For the first time in her life, she cried.

----------

The days after Selbby's leave were spent in bed, miserable and wallowing in self-pity. Her meals still appeared regularly atop the silver platter on a far corner of the bed. She took little food and water and tried to fall into an endless sleep, but it was no good. She always woke up. And then she would find that she was alone and remember that dear dear Selbby was not there and would never be there again. Her eyes would start doing that goddamned leaking again and her chest would ache something horrible. So she just tried to sleep and if she couldn't, she would just rest with her eyes closed, adamantly not thinking about anything, especially Selbby.

This continued until one day she couldn't hold it anymore and had to go to potty. But in the past, Selbby had always held her and they'd pop right into the bathroom where Selbby would set her on the toilet or in the bathtub. Now, there was no Selbby and she would have to go herself. So she slipped off the bed, careful not to disturb the chocolate cake that still sat on the edge of the bed.

As her bare feet touched the cold stone floor, she shivered, not only from the lack of warmth, but from the experience of leaving the sanctity of her bed for the first time. As that realization sunk in, the room suddenly looked a whole lot bigger.

Harry padded her way through the spaces between the bookshelves, wondering when she was going to see the bathroom. She needed to go potty something dreadful. So she kept turning, and following strange paths, until she was quite lost. Panic started to set in as each turn revealed only more shelves and turns. Her pace picked up and she began to jog, eyes flicking frantically left and right for any sign of a bathroom, a door, anything.

After what seemed like centuries of jogging, her breathing came up short and her legs started to feel like jelly. A book appeared in her line of vision as she turned yet another corner. Unable to stop immediately, Harry tripped over the book and sprawled gracelessly across the floor. She struggled to her feet and there it was. A white door between two bookcases.

She opened the door and breathed a sigh of relief as the familiar surroundings of the bathroom filled her vision. After quickly relieving herself, she flushed the toilet and turned to the sink to wash her hands. As she was in the bathroom anyways and did not know when she would next be able to locate it, Harry stripped off her robes and stepped into the bathtub.

As she sat in the tub, waiting for the water to fill, her fingers played with the white cloth wrapped snugly around her torso. At first, she had thought the cloth was part of her, a different patch of skin per se. But when she asked Selbby why the skin was completely white around her torso, Selbby had told her that her stomach was no such thing. Later, she had realized that the texture of the cloth had been completely different from her skin and felt very much like her robes. Apparently, Selbby couldn't see or feel it. It was odd, very odd, but she never had the chance to spare it thought.

Now, though, sitting in the tub, it was a mystery she could explore. Gently, her fingers explored the surface of the cloth, searching for a place where the cloth ended. She peeled it off and started unwrapping, but just as she finished unraveling the first circle, the cloth suddenly animatedly freed itself and dropped limply into her hands. The skin of her torso looked exactly the same as the skin elsewhere. However, it seemed several shades lighter than usual.

Harry stood and turned to face the large mirror that covered the entire wall on the left. Her curiosity demanded that she further examine the difference in skin color.

Imagine her shock, then, as she looked into the mirror to see a completely different person. A curtain of black locks cascaded past her knees, absorbing instead of reflecting the light in the bathroom. Electric green eyes stared back at her and blinked a couple of times as she took in the alabaster skin that emphasized and brought to attention the lightning-bolt shaped scar on her forehead.

Quickly, she rewrapped her torso with the cloth and looked into the mirror again. Short chestnut curls and large hazel eyes. Her old appearance was back. Harry decided that she was definitely more comfortable with this second visage and vowed not to remove the cloth again. Even though she didn't know the outside world's standards for normal, she could guess that changing faces and skin colors wasn't. Plus, that scar had kind of freaked her out.

The bathtub was full now. Harry sank down to her chin in the nearly scalding water and relished the clean, pure feeling the water brought upon her skin. With a deep breath, she dived into the tub and swam in little circles; the tub was big, but not nearly the size of a pool. She spotted the shampoo at the edge of the tub and quickly squeezed an ample amount into her hands. Massaging the soapy gel into her hair, she breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of lavenders. It was such a nice scent.

----------

Soon after her first trip to the bathroom alone, Harry was able to learn and discern the path. The maze-like paths the bookshelves formed now seemed orderly, patternless as they were.

At first, a fleeting curiosity about the "Hogwarts" place Selbby had mentioned led Harry to search the shelves for anything with information on the place. However, as she read more and more books without ever finding a single glitch on the place, she became entranced with the wealth of information her supposed bedroom contained. She found that when she spent her time reading the books and learning different types of magic and historical information, she could completely forget the fact that she was alone.

Days merged into weeks which became months, and all Harry did was read, eat, sleep, and start all over again. There was absolutely nothing for her in life except submerging herself in the magical world described in books. She found that she loved the thought of legilimency to read other people's thoughts, but soon grew disappointed when the book later pointed out that it was completely immoral not to mention illegal. At least the counterpart, occlumency, was perfectly legal, and was actually extremely calming and relaxing.

To tell the truth, her life was a total bore, but she was able to escape reality with the help of her non-verbal friends the bookshelves housed. She later found that throughout her entire life, she never forgot a single thing she learned from that time and the lengthy time of doing nothing but reading and learning had led her to develop something of a photographic memory.

----------

The next marking stone in her life was the day she turned six. She had finished the entire library and was reading a book on lycanthropy for the second time. Werewolves: the Social Order lay sprawled open on a silken pillow as a mop of chestnut hair hovered over it, studiously boring into a particularly gruesome photo of two werewolves tearing into each other.

"A bit violent, don't you think, for a six year old?" came a voice from beside the bed.

Harry started as she realized the voice did not belong to herself. She twisted her head towards the speaker to find herself staring into a pair of twinkling blue eyes behind half-moon glasses. "A bit," she agreed warily. She knew she should be excited at seeing another living being, but she had been just about to nod off to sleep before this interruption.

The old man reached out to remove the book and set it on a nearby bookshelf. "Hello Harry," he greeted with a polite yet warm tone.

"Hello Albus," Harry mimicked. She had read about Albus Dumbledore, the all-powerful wizard who had defeated the Dark Lord Grindelwald. She had had her doubts about how powerful the man could possibly be, but upon this first conscious meeting with the man, she decided that he was definitely very powerful. Small but dense waves of power literally oozed out of the man and Harry could feel it wash over her, an alien sensation. She knew she herself had absolutely no power oozing out of her body and she suddenly felt small next to this great wizard.

The man raised a brow. "You know who I am?"

"I've seen a few pictures of you in certain books. I can read a bit, you know. Selbby taught me."

"Ah, Selbby."

"Yeah..." Harry trailed off awkwardly.

"Well, Harry, first thing's first. Happy birthday."

"Um.. thank you," Harry replied, ducking her head to hide her pleasure at the thought of sharing her birthday cake with another person. Perhaps she wouldn't be spending this day alone.

Suddenly, she jerked her head up to look at Albus Dumbledore hopefully. "Will you let me see the sun? I read that grass is really soft and green!"

For just a second, Harry thought she saw a flicker of pity flash through the baby blue eyes, but it passed before she could fully register it.

"Don't worry, you will be able to see the sun again soon," Dumbledore promised. "But for now, we need to perform a couple of tests."

Albus Dumbledore retrieved a child's wand from his sleeve and handed it to Harry. "Here, wave it about," he ordered.

Harry waved it a few times and nothing happened. She really didn't see the point of this whole exercise. It was completely pointless and not just a little silly.

"Um.. ," she called out weakly as she handed it to Dumbledore, "You want it back?"

"Yes, thank you," said Dumbledore as he tucked the wand back into his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Harry, but you are a squib."

"Really?" Harry asked, eyes wide. "I always thought I was a muggle."

"No, your parents, Lily and James Potter were very promising magic users."

"And where are they now?" Harry asked softly.

"Dead," Dumbledore replied sadly. "Voldemort's followers killed them, but for some reason, they failed to kill you. You are a very lucky child, Harry."

"Oh," Harry replied, not quite knowing what to say.

"You've been down here long enough," Dumbledore began again. "You will go live with your aunt and uncle. Your Aunt Petunia is your mother's little sister and Uncle Vernon is her husband. I think they have a little boy named Dudley. You will have a nice life with them."

"I will go and live with them?" Harry asked, eyes wide in wonder.

"Yes. They know about magic so it's okay to talk about it with them. However, you may not speak about the wizarding world with any other muggles. Otherwise, you will be arrested by the Ministry of Magic and the consequences will not be pleasant."

"I know, I know," Harry nodded vigorously. "I won't say a word. Promise."

"Wonderful. We leave immediately."

----------

The Dursleys lived at Number 4 Privet Drive, a neighborhood with impeccably organized houses. Eight white houses of the exact same design sat on each side of the street, not an inch out of line. It was a perfectly uniform and normal place.

Suddenly, there was a slight pop and a strangely dressed old man with a hazel-eyed boy appeared.

Wordlessly, the two made their way toward the house with the number 4 engraved on its mailbox. Two knocks later, the door creaked open and a horse-faced woman answered the door with a fake smile. "Can I help you-- "

She cut off as she noticed the strange and anything but normal clothing the two people were clad in. "You--," she hissed quietly, "You're one of those people." It was more of a statement than a question, and a very accurate one at that.

"Yes, I am a wizard," said Dumbledore as he smiled benignly at the woman.

"Go away," the woman hissed back, "We want none of your kind here."

"I'm sorry that simply cannot be done, Mrs. Dursley." Dumbledore pushed Harry up towards the woman. "This is your nephew and I have to ask that you take him in. He has no one else."

"What about Lily?" asked Mrs. Dursley, voice tinged with bitterness.

"Lily has unfortunately passed on," Dumbledore replied, looking the correct amount grievous.

Harry stared at the woman and noticed a flicker of something that looked a bit like shock flash through her eyes. Then, the woman replied with her own question. "Why don't you keep him with you? You magic people can stick together."

"I'm a squib." It was Harry who answered. "I can't do magic so I can't stay with them."

Dumbledore's eyes widened a fraction of a centimeter and for a second, he looked alarmed. It was the way the boy had phrased the response. He couldn't help but wonder if Harry had said it to appease the woman or if it was the beginning of a bitter man.

Either way, he didn't have the time, it seemed, as his magic tingled, alerting him to something urgent. "I am sincerely sorry that I cannot stay longer. There is an emergency. Please excuse me."

And with that, he vanished.

They both stared at the empty space for a few seconds before Petunia Dursley slapped the child on the head. "Well, what are you waiting for? You know he's not going to come back."

And Harry smiled sadly for a second before stepping for the first time into the household of the Dursleys.

"What day is it today?" she asked her aunt off-handedly.

"July 31, why?"

"Oh, just wondering." It looked like she wouldn't be having that birthday meal after all.

----------

Vernon and Petunia Dursley treated Harry adequately. Oh, her bedroom was to be the cupboard beneath the stairs, but it wasn't as if she couldn't fit. It was quite cozy, actually. She was also given a large stack of Dudley's old clothing; she would come to discover that her cousin was every bit as wide in girth as his father. Harry ate three meals a day and slept a good eight hours a night and she was, for the most part, ignored by the family.

Three days after Harry had settled into her new home, Petunia Dursley came to her with a list of chores.

"I don't actually expect you to read that list," Petunia said, "but keep it for future reference when you learn to read. You will be cooking, cleaning, gardening, etc."

Harry's mind reeled from the information as she read along the list. Her mind began formulating the way the world worked. Or at least, the way the Dursley household worked. After coming to a conclusion, she lifted her head to look her aunt in the eye. "I don't know how to do these things. Can you teach me for the first couple of days?"

Petunia Dursley sniffed and stuck her nose up in the air to cover her surprise at the lack of complaint. It figured that Lily's child would be obedient and subservient. Lily had been anything but. All that karma was bound to end up somewhere. "That would be alright," she quipped dryly. "You start now. The kitchen is this way. I will show you how to cook."

"Yes ma'am."

Harry had seen Petunia Dursley go out shopping for groceries once before. She had stuffed a wad of muggle money in her pocket before she left. The muggle and wizarding world were similar in that they both operated and depended heavily on money or currency. Harry's stay at the Dursley's would add expense to the Dursley family for food and water. She wasn't consuming or utilizing anything else, so that was about it. Obviously, it was only expected that she had to work for her keep. After all, the Dursleys weren't her parents and if she had learned anything in her six years of life, it was that only parents could possibly give a person unconditional love the way the Dursleys fawned over their son Dudley.

She would admit to no one, not even to herself that she wanted -no- craved love like that.

However, none of this was likely to happen anytime soon, if at all. So, Harry settled for following her aunt for the rest of the day, learning the quirks and workings of housework.

----------

Harry Potter was a quick learner and in no time at all took care of all the household chores. She actually quite enjoyed most of the chores like cooking and gardening. Cleaning was a bit tedious but required little effort. The only complaint she really had was that the boredom was stifling.

After a couple of weeks, the question of Harry's schooling came under debate. Petunia thought the boy shouldn't be sent to school and instead study at home with Dudley's old books. Vernon, on the other hand, asserted his opinion that the boy should be forced to go to public school in case he became lax in his studies and embarrassed them with his stupidity. Harry, personally, thought nothing of this argument and made no move to indicate that she already knew how to read and write as well as do advanced arithmetic. Muggle science seemed interesting, really. It was like the muggles' magic except it worked in completely logical and explainable ways unlike magic. As great as English was, she still thought that it'd be nice to learn a couple of new languages.

In the end, it was decided that Harry would attend public school come September.

The days went by and Harry was largely ignored by everyone in the Dursley family. That is, everyone except Dudley Dursley.

"Harry, d'ya know your mum was a freak?" Dudley asked one day, tugging on Harry's chestnut curls.

It hurt like hell. Dudley certainly didn't know his strength. With a grimace, Harry slapped Dudley's hand away from her head. "That's real great for you, Dudley," she replied nonchalantly as she marched off into the living room to dust the furniture. Every Tuesday was furniture dusting day.

Dudley usually ignored Harry the way his parents did. Unfortunately, Vernon and Petunia were out on this particularly lovely day.

"Hey," exclaimed Dudley as he followed Harry into the living room. "I wasn't done talking to you!"

"So talk," said Harry as she wiped the rag in her hand across the coffee table in front of the couch.

"But you have to listen to me or else it's no fun," lamented Dudley.

"I'm listening. I just happen to be cleaning at the same time. You know I get no dinner if I don't finish this by the time your parents come back."

"Yeah, but when you're all over the place dusting things and all, it doesn't feel like you're listening."

"Too bad. I'm feeling particularly hungry today."

"You know what, if you talk to me, I'll sneak you some food after dinner if you don't finish cleaning in time."

At this, Harry looked up with an amused smile. "I don't believe you Dudley." And then she went right back to cleaning.

"Aw come on, I promise."

"No, Dudley."

"Fine. Then if you don't talk to me, I'll -- I'll break that vase and tell mum and dad that you broke it!"

"Dudley. Are you threatening me?"

"I -- I -- Yes! -- I mean -- NO! -- I mean, I just want you to talk to me!"

"And why do you want to talk to me so much?" asked Harry as she tilted her head to regard her cousin from the corner of her eye.

What she saw almost had her laughing. Dudley flushed a very alarming shade of red. "I -- I --" he stuttered before he blurted, "You're awful pretty."

Harry raised a brow. "Dudley... do you fancy me?"

"I -- I --" mumbled Dudley.

Then, very quietly, "Yeah, I think so."

Harry paused for a moment in her work, then continued on as she spoke. "Dudley, I'm a boy."

"I... know." Dudley's voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper.

"Your parents won't like that you fancy boys."

"I know!" he suddenly exclaimed. "But it's not like I fancy boys in general. It's just you. I mean, it's not my fault you seem so girly."

"Gee thanks, Dudley." Harry rolled her eyes. "Way to insult a guy."

"Sorry. It wasn't an insult."

"Mhm," Harry hummed noncommitally. "I'd also like to add that I'm your cousin."

"I -- I know. I know it's wrong. And I know my parents won't like this one bit."

"Don't worry, Dudley," soothed Harry, "This is just a passing crush. You're only seven."

"Yeah, I guess that's true." He brightened considerably.

"However--"

"No! Don't tell Daddy!"

"Dudley, I'm not going to tell Uncle Vernon. I just wanted to tell you that in the future when you start crushing on some lucky little girl, you're going to have a very difficult time winning her over."

"What do you mean?"

"To put it simply and bluntly, you're a spoiled brat and now you're becoming a bully."

"What?! I am NOT."

"Okay. Then what was that I saw you doing with Piers last week? With the boy down the streets?"

"We were... we were just asking for some money."

"Oh, you were asking alright. And after he said no, you beat him up. That's what people call bullying, Dudley."

"Yeah? Well, at least I don't have to do all the housework."

"That's not the point, Dudley. The point is that if you keep doing that, it'll be hard for you to find a good girl to like you. Don't you want to marry a nice girl and settle down the way your father has?"

"Well, I suppose..."

"Then, you have to stop being a bully."

"But, Harry, I can't help it. It's too fun!"

"Dudley, you need to find something else to interest you. Something like... sports. You could lose a couple of pounds, you know. Sports would help you lose weight even if you eat a lot. And, the girls all love boys who play sports."

"Really?"

"Of course," said Harry in that 'Would-I-lie-to-you?' tone. Of course, Harry didn't know anything about this at all and was just pulling all this from her ass. But, if it helped save that poor kid down the street and helped Dudley lose weight, then what was the problem? Maybe Dudley having a crush on her wasn't all that bad.

----------

If there was one thing Harry learned in her time at the Dursleys, it was that they hated anything not normal, especially magic. So, it was very fortunate that she was a squib, or else she was certain she would have received far worse treatment from her aunt and uncle. In fact, Petunia seemed almost smug about the fact that she couldn't do magic.

Once, while Harry had been setting the table for dinner, Petunia had come by and very happily commented that Harry would most definitely not be receiving a letter from Hogwarts on his eleventh birthday.

At that, Harry had looked up to see the smugness firmly rooted in her aunt's expression. So firmly, in fact, that she feared it would stick permanently. And that would be a very nasty expression to have on at all times; it could really offend a lot of people. But far be it from Harry to be offended.

"Oh?" she had asked nonchalantly, testing the waters. "You never know. After all, my mother got one. Perhaps I will luck out?"

"LUCK?!" Petunia had spat. "It was not lucky at all! Look at where she ended up! Dead without a single soul to take care of her six year old son and then she had to turn to me. Oh, she'll be rolling over in her grave to see you as a squib and not getting a Hogwarts letter."

Harry chose not to comment on the wizarding terminology and instead baited, "So it is a good thing after all to become a wizard or witch?"

"NO! It's always like this! People just think that magic is so wonderful and everything. Mum and Dad could only go on and on about how proud they were to have a witch in the family. Not that it helped anyone any. Not to mention she spent all her time with that awful boy during the summers. In fact, they've been together since they met at that awful summer house at Spinner's End."

"No!" Harry gasped, pretending to be horrified. "That awful boy that she married and had a kid with before she got brutally murdered by a magical psychopath?!" she asked, digging for information. It would be interesting if her parents had known each other in their childhood.

"No, not that awful boy," sneered Petunia. "The one with the large hooked nose and greasy hair. Sevrase Snape or something. He was absolutely abhorrent, if you ask me."

"Of course," Harry replied softly to end the conversation and continue to set the table, but not before tucking that bit of conversation firmly in the 'to be examined later' section of her mind.

----------

"Harry!"

She ignored the voice and turned over to snuggle further into her blanket and away from the cupboard door. It was the first time she could sleep in because Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were going to a three-day convention for Vernon's company.

"Harry!"

The voice was louder this time and somehow, through her sleep-hazed mind, Harry recognized it as Dudley's.

"Oh come on, Dudley, I'm sleeping."

"Harry, we need to talk. It's an emergency!"

Harry groaned as she slipped out of her blankets and opened the cupboard door. Dudley Dursley knelt in the hall, wringing his hands anxiously.

Harry quickly rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked left and right. "Is there a fire?"

"No!" yelped Dudley. "Of course not!"

"Well then," said Harry, tiredly, "I don't see what's so important that you needed to wake me up. I'm awfully tired today, you know."

"Yeah, well, Harry, this is really important."

"Okay then. Talk."

"Harry... I don't bother Horton anymore."

Harry blinked a couple of times. "Huh?" she asked intelligently.

"Horton, the boy from down the street," explained Dudley.

"Oh," replied Harry dumbly. "Well, that's nice." She knew that Dudley had started football recently, or soccer as they called it in America. It was doing him wonders, really. He was losing quite a bit of weight and Petunia was absolutely ecstatic about this. Apparently, it was working more than wonders since he had, apparently, also stopped being a bully. Ah, she was such an excellent persuader. Perhaps she could try to become one of those sales-people who bugged people to buy things.

"Harry..."

"Yeah?"

"I think I'm in love with you."

"WHAT?!" Harry jumped up and abruptly hit her head against the top of the doorway to the cupboard. This was so not supposed to happen.

"Yeah, I think it's serious. I mean, my heart goes fluttering everytime I think of you. And my stomach's doing sommersaults right now."

Harry stared at her cousin expressionlessly, mulling things over in her head.

"Oh Harry, what do I do? You know how Daddy will freak. Mummy might even throw me away!" Dudley continued in a hysteric manner.

Having reached a final decision, Harry smiled and patted her cousin on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll solve the problem before your parents even come back tomorrow."

Dudley looked at Harry with watery eyes. "Really?" he asked breathlessly, on the verge of hyperventilation.

"Really," Harry replied softly. "Trust me."

----------

When the Dursley couple returned to Number 4, Privet Drive early the next day, they found nothing out of place. In fact, they had not even noticed anything off until noon when they found that lunch was not on the table as it usually was.

"Boy!" called Vernon Dursley. His bellow echoed throughout the entire house.

Dudley scampered down the stairs and stared wide-eyed at his father.

"Daddy?" he whimpered, afraid that Harry had told Vernon everything.

"I said 'boy,' not you, son," Vernon explained, exasperated. "Where is he? Have you seen him?"

"No. I haven't seen Harry since yesterday," Dudley replied honestly. "Have you checked the cupboard? He might still be sleeping. He was pretty tired yesterday."

"Sleeping?!" Vernon exploded.

The convention had not gone too well. Every employee in the company had had their salary cut by 10 due to company problems. Apparently, there was a new drill-making company that was wiping Grunnings's ass. Their designs were newly invented and the quality was much better. In fact, much of everything about this new company was better than Grunnings. Even their name sounded better: Rosario. Grunnings could potentially be forced out of business in a couple of years and Vernon could potentially be forced out of a job.

Needless to say, Vernon Dursley was not in a pleasant mood. And the fact that his lunch was not set on the table at noon was not helping things either. Oh, that Harry boy was in for a world of trouble.

"Um.. yes.. sleeping?" Dudley squeaked.

Vernon frowned for a second, remarking, "Son, you have to sharpen up. Be a man."

"Yes, Daddy," Dudley agreed quickly.

"BOY!" Vernon's attention was once again drawn to his empty stomach.

He marched over to the cupboard and furiously wrenched the door open, expecting to see the useless boy lazing around in bed.

What he found was a perfectly folded blanket with a white envelope lying on top of it addressed in beautiful handwriting to Mr. and Mrs. Dursley.

Petunia watched as her husband went stock still. Curious, she walked over to see what it was all about.

"Well, go on, read it," urged Petunia when she saw the envelope.

Recovered from shock, Vernon Dursley stuck his fat fingers into the envelope and withdrew a single sheet of folded paper. It was a letter.

"Dear Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia ( and you too, Dudley, if you read this )," Petunia read aloud. "By the time you are reading this letter, I should be far gone from here. Wait. Before you get mad and throw this in the rubbish bin, hear me out first. Life here wasn't bad at all. In fact, it was almost pleasant. I did not leave because you were all horrible people. I left because I couldn't imagine relying on you for the rest of my life. It just doesn't seem right. You need not concern yourself with me anymore and if the neighbors ask, just say that my godfather came and demanded custody. You just wanted to avoid the courts. Have a nice life, Aunt and Uncle. I'll be searching for mine. Wish me luck. Your nephew, Harry Potter."

"Well..." said Petunia after a pregnant pause. "I must say, Harry's more mature than Lily ever was."

Midway down the stairs, Dudley Dursley let out a choked sob and sank to his knees.

-------------------------

To tell the truth, Harry did not leave solely because of Dudley. It had more to do with the fact that she couldn't imagine herself living at the Dursleys for the rest of her life. Because, that's what she would have to do if she stayed there. She would never be able to do anything, or get out of there. She would just be the muggle version of a house elf for all eternity... or at least until she died. Not that there was anything wrong with that job, but it was just so dull. It would only take a few years for her to die or go crazy from boredom. No, it was not the life for her. She would have to search elsewhere for her niche in the world.

Surviving alone on the streets of London wasn't, however, as easy as it first seemed. Food was acquired mainly by scavenging for leftover food from rubbish bins. Money was acquired mainly by begging. But, it was never enough.

Harry's large clothes wore down into threadbare sheets of cloth. It was now August and thankfully, the summer month offered heat even in the coolness of night.

August faded into September and autumn began. Leaves turned into vibrant shades of red, yellow, and orange, and then eventually, fell to the ground. The nights were colder and the temperature dropped with each passing day. There was no way of surviving without more clothing. There was no way of buying more clothing without money. There was no way of acquiring enough money without stealing. And so that's what she did. She stole.

Harry chose unobservant or inattentive people to pickpocket. At first, she wasn't very good at it and almost got caught a number of times. Thankfully, her swift feet and small stature allowed her to disappear into the thick crowds of London. Credit cards were useless so she could only make use of the cash. The first thing she bought with her stolen money was a winter jacket that kept her alive through October.

There was no place for morals anymore. Any qualms she used to have for crime died away. There was only one thing to worry about; Survival. There was only one rule to this new game: Do whatever is needed in order to survive. So she shoplifted, she pick-pocketed, and she begged; She survived November.

It was a cold December day when Harry met them for the first time. They were a coalition of thousands of homeless kids in London. A gang, if you will.

Harry was eating a hot dog, a rare treat that she had just nicked from a restaurant when the chef was out. The warm goodness was just melting in her mouth and the scent, oh god, the scent drove her crazy before she even scarfed down her first bite. The taste was absolutely amazing and for a moment, she wished more than anything for a hotdog a day. It was an impossible dream at the moment, but hey, a girl could hope.

"That hotdog looks good."

That had been the first thing the leader of the homeless kids had said.

Without even glancing at the person, Harry quickly finished off the rest of her meal before someone would, god forbid, take it away from her. She was already skinny enough and even though she hadn't looked in a mirror lately, she knew she looked absolutely horrible. Her eyes were probably sunken in from lack of sleep. It really wasn't very safe to fall asleep on the streets of London, even if one was a boy. Really, there were more and more pedophiles around, or even worse, cops. The orphanage was the last place she ever wanted to go. Once she went in, it was impossible to get out until someone adopted her, and the chances of getting picked by good people were so small she didn't even want to think about it.

"It tastes good too," Harry replied after a while, grinning as she raised her head to look at the person who had just so rudely interrupted her meal.

The speaker was most definitely the leader of the small group. His confident and easy gait easily gave it away as he leaned against a brick wall, arms crossed casually at his chest. "Really, I must commed you on your skills if you could taste it with the speed you ate it. I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't get a single chew in."

Harry studied the boy for any sign of insult and relaxed as she saw that he was merely teasing, indicated by his lop-sided smirk and friendly eyes. Wind-blown hair the same color as her own swept across his forehead, nearly eclipsing stormy gray eyes. He was a couple of feet taller than Harry and exuded an aura that screamed 'leader.'

Behind him, three boys and a girl stood with amused smiles.

"So I'm a quick eater," Harry conceded with a smile.

"And a quick runner," quipped the solitary girl in the odd group of four.

"We saw you nick that hotdog," explained one of the three boys standing next to the leader. His baby blue eyes were dancing as his lips eased into a grin.

"Ah. Well, sorry but I can't nick one for you guys. See, I only muck off of a store once a month. Figure they need a month to recover from their loss." Harry's face was smiling, but inside, she was getting wary. Ever so slowly, she tensed her legs, ready to sprint off at a moment's threat.

The leader seemed to notice this because he eased off from the wall and held his hands up in a gesture to convey harmlessness. Harmless her ass; if that boy was harmless, then she was fatter than Dudley Dursley. "Hey, don't run. We mean you no harm."

"Oh really?" Harry raised a single brow as her legs tensed more.

"Yes, really. Here, I'm Jamison Smith," he said as he held his hand out for a handshake.

"H-- Horton Carter," replied Harry, suddenly recalling the name of the boy down the street that Dudley no longer bullied. She wasn't stupid enough to give her real name to these strangers that were much much bigger than her. Cautiously, she reached out and grasped Jamison's hand in a firm handshake.

"I'm sixteen." He pointed to the girl in his little group. "She's Samantha Carter, same last name as you, 14. Hey, you might be related."

"I doubt it," Harry mused dryly.

"This here's Jacob Sheldon, 15. People call him Jake," said Jamison as he pointed to the blue-eyed boy who had spoken earlier. "Marcus Neelan, 17." He pointed to a tall, stocky boy with dirty blond hair. "And last, but certainly not least, Shotarou Shinomori. He's only twelve."

The last boy was short, lithe, and Japanese with slanted black eyes that looked much too observant for Harry's liking.

"We're part of a group of homeless kids," Jamison continued, "We work together and help each other. It's like one big family. We have nearly three thousand members right now."

Harry sighed and carded her fingers through chestnut curls. "You want me to join you guys." Why else would Jamison go on and introduce everyone by name and age?

"Yeah," Jamison smiled approvingly. "You look like you're alone. It's too easy for you to get caught by the cops. You're only what, six?"

Harry flinched as he guessed her age right on, but disguised the reaction as anger. "I'm ten, you great git. I just happen to look small is all."

"Oh really?" None of the four homeless kids looked convinced as they eyed her small and bony figure.

"Really," Harry bit back. "And I have no intention of joining you guys. Good day."

And she turned and ran, far far away from that part of London. Because deep inside, she liked to think that she could survive on her own. That she was strong enough to make it on the streets. However, at that time she hadn't known that humans could do nothing if they did not use or depend on other people. After all, the whole of civilization was based on collective work and collaboration. It was just too bad she hadn't realize it before she had rejected the homeless group.

Looking back on hindsight, she probably wouldn't have even survived the winter. With no particularly sturdy shelter, it was extremely difficult to live through the cold harsh winter.

So it was probably fortunate that a couple of weeks later, she woke up to the feeling of a hand fondling her six-year-old ass.

Freaked, and rightly so, Harry jumped almost three meters into the air as she spun around to glare at the owner of the hand. It was a drunken middle aged man. His tie was loose on his formerly prim business suit. Sandy hair tumbled into glazed eyes.

"How much?" the man asked in a slurred voice.

"WHAT?!" Harry shrieked.

"How much?" the man repeated. "Just one night. Don't ask for more than fifty pounds though, I don't have anymore notes."

Harry stared, thoroughly shocked. The drunken man thought she was a prostitute? What kind of prostitute would be sleeping in a cardboard box in the middle of a dark London alley? Oh wait, a really poor one. If there was anything Harry could be described as at the moment, it was poor, in both senses of the word.

"Sorry, sir, but I'm not a prostitute," she replied calmly and politely, then abruptly turned and walked away.

A hand wrenched her to the floor as it tore at her wrist. "Come on," the man whined, "I'm just lonely."

"Yes, well, that still doesn't make me a prostitute," replied Harry from her position beneath the man. When had he climbed atop her?

"Just stay with me for one night. I'll make you feel amazing."

"Thank you for the offer, but if you'd wake up, you'd realize that I'm a six year old boy. I don't care much for 'feeling amazing.'"

"Please," the man begged pitifully as he started to rip the rags from her body.

"Your wife's home," Harry took a blind guess.

The man froze and she knew she had struck right on the mark. Taking advantage of this revelation, she continued to press, "She's waiting for you."

"Goddamit," the man cursed. "She'll be so disappointed!"

"Oh really? Now why would that be?" Harry tried very hard to hold back on the sarcasm.

"I just lost the job today. Mary doesn't even work! She gave up going on to graduate school to raise my kids. Oh, my kids, what am I going to do?! I won't be able to provide them anything anymore. They'll hate me so much."

The man had stopped ripping at her clothes when he started to moan about his problems. Harry took this as a good sign. "Well," she drawled, "Did Mary marry you and give you kids because she wanted you to provide her with every single thing she could possibly want?"

"N-- no. She says she loves me," the man whimpered. "But, she'll be so disappointed, so very disappointed."

"Look, man," Harry reasoned as she reached out a hand to brush the sandy hair away from the man's face, "You lost your job. It happens. Bad stuff like this happens. It's the way it works. But it's not the end of the world. You can get another job and it may pay even better than your old job. Have you tried another city?"

"Another job," the man repeated as if in a trance. "Yes, another job. I could get another job."

"That's right. Mary is waiting for you at home. What would she say if she saw you were pinning down a six year old boy and about to have sex with him?"

"Oh," the man moaned, "She would be so very disappointed. More disappointed even than the fact that I lost my job."

"Go on now," Harry urged. "Your kids are waiting for their father. They want to see him before they go to sleep. You don't want them to wait up even later, do you? Or they might have snuck out of bed in the middle of the night to wait for you on the couch. You don't want them to catch a cold, do you?"

"No, no, I wouldn't want little Eric to catch a cold. Oh god, what if Lily is up too? Her body's so very weak. She can't take sickness."

"Yes, go to your family."

The man scrambled up and hurried off through the dark alley. "Mary. Eric. Lily." He mumbled the names again and again in a mantra.

"Yes, go to your family," Harry whispered as she watched his retreating back. "Before you lose them forever."

Harry crouched back into her box, bringing her knees to her chest. Suddenly, she wasn't so sleepy anymore, and it was cold.

As she sat there in her box, she imagined what Lily and James would have been like. Would they have loved her? And if they did, would it have been the unconditional kind of love Dudley received from his parents? She would never know and it was useless to think about such things. It would only hurt and hurt was really not what she needed right after that ordeal with the man who had almost raped her. She had been lucky, that the man had been so inebriated and traumatized by his job loss. If it had been a more experienced rapist, she could have been in serious shit.

Harry didn't know how long she sat there, thinking about nothing in particular, all the while attempting and barely succeeding in not thinking about what it would be like to have a family. Then, just as the sun was rising, the soft golden lights cast a long shadow across the entrance of the box.

She ignored it, mentally urging it to go away.

It didn't.

"Come out, little boy."

Harry stubbornly stayed in her little box.

"I know you're in there," the voice said again after a few seconds.

"No I'm not," Harry retorted.

"Come out now or else you'll regret it for the rest of your life." Harry studied his voice for a trace of deceit, threat, anything malicious. There was nothing except cold hard truth.

Slowly, Harry uncurled and crawled out. She stood up to see a man dressed in a black trenchcoat, an expensive black hat set upon his curly brown hair. His eyes were brown and cold.

The man let Harry stare at him for a few minutes before asking, "What's your name, Boy?"

Surprisingly, Harry found herself blurting out the truth. "Harry Potter, sir."

"You are to come with me. I will provide you with a safe environment."

"Oh."

The man turned and walked toward the opposite end of the alley the sandy haired man had traveled earlier that night. Harry trotted after him to keep up.

"Sir?"

"What?"

"Why did you, well, decide to erm... you know?"

The man had no expression on his face as he said, "Your ability to talk your way out of a situation left an impression on me."

-------------------------


	3. Assassin: Crow

A/N: Honestly, I'm disappointed with how few people are actually reading this fic. On a lighter note, questions that have been voiced will not be answered in this chapter. P Stuff about Harry's magical status and the situation in the Wizarding World will come in a couple of chapters if not the next one.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Summary: AU. Harry's born a girl but registered a boy. Neville's the BoyWhoLived. And oh yeah, there're several more organizations involved in this war than anyone would have guessed. From assassin to leader of "the rising power," life's one deadly game for Harry.

**A Deadly Game**

**Two: **

The man led Harry into the office of what looked like a really cruddy apartment. There was an old desk, dusty from disuse, and a tall brown bookcase holding copies of the Holy Bible translated into various languages. A spinny chair lay fallen over in an opposite corner of the room. Without a word, the man walked up to the desk and kicked something beneath it. The bookshelf in the corner leapt aside to reveal a blindingly bright path going straight down, yet even from the entrance of the crummy office, Harry could feel the frigid cold emanating from the newly revealed hole in thick waves.

Said hole was apparently the south-western entrance as the man so coldly informed her.

Harry shuffled towards the light, ignoring both her sqinted eyes and the rapid temperature drop. Her mouth dropped open in a gape as she watched the man jump into the entrance and for a moment, all she could see was his shadowed form against the bright backdrop of light. It reminded her, strangely of the "white light" one was said to see moments before death.

As she stood there, mouth agape, the bookcase began to slowly slide back. With the speed that had served her so well on the streets, Harry rushed headfirst into the hole and resisted the incredible urge to shiver or scrunch up in a ball.

She landed painfully on her side and slowly rolled spread eagle onto her back to gaze up. The ceiling was a deep mahogany wood, but the circular entrance she had just fallen through was visible against what she supposed was the bottom of the bookshelf from the office.

"There is no time to waste lying on the floor."

Harry tilted her head back to see the man frown disapprovingly at her. She quickly stood up, flinching as her back gave a twinge, damage from the fall. It was perhaps thirteen meters from the ceiling to the floor.

"And learn to land better."

She nodded and shifted forward, covering her eyes as she passed over the bright light installed directly beneath the South Western Entrance.

"It's cold," Harry noted as she wrapped her arms around herself.

"This is the South Western Entrance," the man began, striding purposefully down the long corridor. "The light installed beneath the floor is to blind the enemies as they enter. This corridor leads directly into the South-western Wing and nowhere else. As you have noticed, it is cold, but you will learn to get used to it."

Soon, the corridor opened into a large octagonal shaped chamber the size of a ballroom. It, like the corridor, was brightly lit and extremely cold. At each vertex of the octagon, there was a marble-white door that looked like it had been painted on. Harry moved to inspect one and found that it was indeed made of marble, certainly not painted on. Ten feet wide, five feet to the left and five to the right extending from the vertex, the door looked incredibly large and heavy.

Suddenly, the door three vertices down swung open and a young woman around the age of 15 ran across the expanse of the room and flung herself at the man in black.

"Daddy!" the girlish voice squealed in warm pleasure.

"Anna," the man replied as he ran his fingers through her silky brown hair. "I told you it was only a business meeting. You should be in your room studying."

The reprimand lacked disapproval -- it was something that was said so often that its meaning no longer lingered. Recalling the way the door had opened, Harry amused herself with estimations of how heavy the doors actually were. The doors here were unique in that they pivoted around their centers at the exact points of the vertices. She had also noticed that the door the girl had walked through had been at least a foot thick.

"Oh!" Harry was interrupted from her thoughts by the same feminine but young voice. "Is this a new one?"

"Yes, this is our newest addition. His name is Sabre North."

Harry opened her mouth to say that her name was in fact not Sabre North, but a very masculine Harry Potter, when she met the man's eyes. Her mouth abruptly shut and she seemed to realize that from that moment on, her name was to be Sabre North. Putting on a charming smile, she turned instead to the man's daughter and bowed slightly, recalling from the books that it was common courtesy for a male to bow in the presence of a female, even though she suspected that she herself was also female if her face and body without the cloth was real.

"At your service," Harry murmured in a smooth voice, and would have looked extremely princely if she had been two feet taller and a decade older.

"I'm Anastasia Prevalos." The girl giggled as she appraised him subtly with chocolate brown eyes. "How old are you?"

"As of now, six," she replied honestly.

"That's a good age. When do you turn seven?"

"April 7th." She decided to skim a bit on her birthday.

"I see." And indeed she _did_ see. "You will need a birth certificate. I assume you've never went to school?"

"I haven't," Harry affirmed.

"Daddy, I should have it by tomorrow at the latest," Anastasia turned to address her father, then shifted back to Harry. "Sabre, it would do you good to try hard here." Her voice was decidedly neutral, so unlike the girlish tone it had taken with her father earlier.

"Of course." Of course Harry had no idea what she was talking about. But she had no illusions about being adopted.

"Anastasia." It was the man who spoke this time. "I need to go back to my office and get some work done. Why don't you settle Sabre down with the others."

"Certainly!" The childish grin was back on Anastasia's face as she tugged a reluctant Harry towards the door just to the left of the corridor.

Harry noticed that this door was only about three inches thick and seemed considerably lighter than the door she had first come from.

That peculiar door opened into a corridor that was just as eye-burning and cold as the South Western Entrance and opened up into another octagonal room half the size of the former one. The place was a bloody maze and likely endless if every door in every octagonal room led to yet another octagonal room.

However, this eight sided room was furnished in the equivalent of a game room slash living room. A good four or five couches were set up in front of various electronics like a large plasma screen tv or a table of computers. There were also games like foosball and pool; video games were stacked neatly in a corner.

"This," Anastasia gestured with a wave of her arm, "is the commons for the beginners. Your room will be over here." She led him to the first door to the left. "You're lucky you're here so late. You get your own room. The bathroom is connected so no worries there." She pushed open the three centimeter thick door and the two entered.

The room wasn't, to Harry's relief, an octagon. It was a perfectly shaped circle approximately fifty meters in diameter. Four single beds were lined up as close to the wall and as far away from the others as possible. A single door stood directly across the entrance to the room, supposedly the bathroom.

There was no wallpaper because the walls were made of cold speckled stone which happened to be granite upon closer inspection. "So," Anastasia asked, "What do you think?"

"It's great," Harry replied sincerely, still taking in the wonderful simplicity of the setting.

"Good," chirped Anastasia. "Cuz you're going to stay for quite a long time."

"Hm," Harry hummed noncommitally.

"Any questions?"

"Yeah, just one."

"Go on." Anastasia walked over and flopped onto one of the beds. "Ask away."

"What am I supposed to do here?"

Abruptly, the girl on the bed sat up and spun to stare at the six year old, eyes wide. "Here in this room or here in this _place_?"

Harry chuckled. "Here in this place."

"You mean you had no idea?"

"No, not a clue."

"Then why'd you come?" Anastasia looked genuinely curious.

"Because your father told me I would regret it if I didn't follow him."

"And you trusted him?" The fifteen year old looked incredulous. "I mean, he's my daddy and all, but he's really not what I would consider the most trustworthy person alive, especially when you don't even know him."

"He was telling the truth. I could feel it. I have never been so certain about something like I was then."

"Well, you should have at least asked what you were getting yourself into."

Harry laughed. "Either way, I'm staying. Besides, your father doesn't look like someone who likes to answer questions."

Anastasia grinned. "He's not. He's more of the sit and be quiet while working on tremendously important crap type of person."

"Which is why, I'm asking you now: What have I gotten myself into?"

"Why that's a very good question, Monsieur North. But it's no big deal; all you've done is sign yourself up for assassin training."

Harry's eyes widened considerably. "Assassin. Training."

"Yes," Anastasia replied, like it was an everyday thing. And it probably was for her.

"Like people in black clothes sneak off to kill the prime minister."

A tinkering laugh burst from the girl on the bed. "Not quite. It's much more than that and you won't be killing anyone too important anytime soon. You're a beginner."

"Right." Harry still looked a bit dazed.

"There are four levels here. Beginner, intermediate, advanced, and elite. We have a system here and beginners are called Crows. Intermediates are Ravens and the advanced assassins are called Phoenixes. And elites, well, they're just called the Elites. There really aren't all that many elites anyways. By the way, it's the elite who will be carrying out the killing important people missions and you don't get missions until you're at least a Phoenix. Crows and Ravens do mostly training."

"So, those kids in the other rooms, they're all crows?"

"Correct. The South-Western Wing is for crows. You will probably have noticed that it's extremely cold. Well, you'd be correct. The temperature is almost always ten degrees celcius, or around fifty degrees fahrenheit, except on weekends. Then we drop it to zero degrees celcius, or thirty two degrees fahrenheit, the temperature when freezing begins. This is all to condition your bodies. You will eventually get used to it. Well, either that or die of a horrible fever. Don't worry, the kids usually just suffer through five or six fevers before their bodies adjust. Only a dozen have actually died."

"Well, that's certainly reassuring."

"Mhm. Anything else you feel you need to know?"

"Yes. How much, exactly, do these doors weigh?"

Anastasia burst into laughter again. "You're really something, Sabre. The kids usually don't notice until they're stuck in their rooms and starving."

"Thanks?" Harry quipped, not really knowing how to respond.

"To answer your question, each door is ten feet wide and ten feet tall. A square, if you will. However, each door is different. I'm sure you noticed that certain doors are thicker than others. Obviously, the thicker the door, the heavier it will be and the more strength it will take you to open it. That's how we keep you young ones out of our hair. You can't open the doors past the South-Western Wing. But for crows, we start off easy. Your door, for example, should weigh about sixty pounds or approximately twenty seven kilograms."

"Bathroom or the door we just came from?" Harry managed weakly. 'Three inches thick equals sixty pounds. Each inch of door is around twenty pounds. Ouch," she thought to herself.

"Both," chirped Anastasia, much too happy for the situation. It was only then that Harry noticed Anastasia had breezed through all those doors without a sign of strain. That door she opened in the first chamber was at least 12 inches thick. So that was what, 240 pounds? Geez, what was she, muscle woman? The fifteen year old tilted her head as she noticed that she was being appraised. "What're you staring for?"

"I'm wondering where you hide all your muscles," Harry replied dryly.

Anastasia laughed in that tinkling voice again. "Charming, kid, really. But there are different types of muscle. Some people develop the bulging kind and some people develop the kind that doesn't really show. It's kinda like quality versus quantity."

"Right, and you're the lucky girl who got blessed with the quality," remarked Harry. "I won't even bother wondering whether I'll get the bulky or the nonexistant muscles. All I'm worrying about right now is opening that bathroom door."

"Good thinking," said Anastasia. "But you better hurry it up because training for the crows begins in about half an hour. Late-comers have to do double the exercises for punishment. Be sure to go to the training room."

Harry raised a brow. "And that would be through which of the many doors?"

"From your room, it should be the door to the right to get to the Main SW Hall. And before you ask, SW stands for South-West, we're just too lazy to say the cardinal directions. From there, if you face the corridor to the SW Entrance, the main training room should be three doors to the right of it. The one between the commons and the main training room is the kitchen. You will only go there at mealtimes and you will eat everything they give you. Nothing more, nothing less. And you must be there exactly at 8 in the morning, 12 noon, and 6 in the afternoon. Oh yeah, and if you get sick from the cold, and I mean really really sick, not like sniffling nose sick, just lie down in the Main SW Hall and wait for someone to find you. They'll take you to the infirmary which you won't be able to find or get to alone."

"Open bathroom door in five minutes, get through the commons door in ten minutes, and make it past the training door in twenty. Got it."

Anastasia smiled, not unkindly, and stood to exit Harry's room. "Good luck, Kid, I kinda like you. It would make me sad if you don't survive."

Not knowing how to respond, Harry just waved awkwardly as the girl slipped out of the room.

Then, it was time to turn her attention to the freaking heavy bathroom door. She pushed as hard as she could, hoping it would at least budge. No luck there.

The clock struck six a.m. and Harry looked up to see a grandfather clock stuck inside the wall above the bathroom door. Okay, fifteen minutes until she had to make it to the training room. Shoving all her weight against the bathroom door, Harry finally managed to create an opening. With a sudden burst of strenth, she pushed it almost all the way open and ran in, panting.

The first thing Harry noticed about the bathroom was that its walls were also of white marble. And that it was fairly large for a bathroom. It was also a square chamber. A large bathtub sat in one corner and a shower in another. In the final two corners sat a toilet and a sink. Quickly rushing to the toilet, Harry relieved herself and proceeded to wash her hands.

What time was it? She looked up and to her great amusement, she could see the grandfather clock from her side of the door as well, although the numbers were admittedly backwards. Crap. Only ten minutes to get to the training place.

With a might shove, she managed to get past the bathroom door. Body already feeling weary, Harry glared at her bedroom door. 'Another sixty pounds, here I come.' And she shoved past that door too.

The lounge, which moments earlier had been completely empty when she came in with Anastasia was now milling with several other Crows. Their ages ranged anywhere from five to eleven. As one of the kids pushed his way out of the commons, Harry sprinted towards the door and managed to slip through as it swung back closed.

"You're new here." It was more of a statement than a question.

Harry looked up to see the boy who had opened the door just moments earlier. Her chestnut hair fell into her eyes as she shifted herself to stand up straight, finding that she still had to look up a good six inches to find his eyes.

"Mm," she hummed in agreement as she subtly appraised the kid.

Long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and dark grey eyes; he looked no older than ten. "When'd you come?" He was speaking in a squeaky yet rough voice, likely going through a voice change.

"An hour or so ago," Harry replied. "Why do you keep your hair long?"

"Sentimental value," replied the boy. "I'm Shaydon Millardos. You?"

"Sabre North." She didn't miss a beat. "How long have you been here?"

"A couple of years now." Then he turned and walked to the training room, having lost interest in the short conversation.

"Hey, wait up!" called Harry as she jogged to catch up with the taller boy.

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Shaydon hid a smile as the new kid followed him to the training room. The new kid was a boy, short with an incredibly cute face and petite frame. What was he thinking, of course the new kid was good looking. If he had noticed anything in the year and half he'd spent in this metaphorical hellhole, it was that all the trainees and assassins were incredibly good looking. Sure, there were beauties of different varieties: cute, pretty, angelic, or just plain gorgeous, but two things remained constant with all the people in the underground maze. One, they were all healthy with physical potential and two, they were pleasing to the eye. Shaydon secretly suspected that the higher leveled trainees would eventually be trained in the art of seduction.

Back to the new kid. He was just too innocent. Everything from the small trusting smile that always played on his small creamy face to the liquid hazel eyes that sparkled with life were entirely too pure, untouched by the grime of the world. This underground world of assassins just wasn't the place for the kid.

He had introduced himself as Sabre North, but Shaydon doubted it was his real name, likely something the Master had made up on the spot. Of course, Shaydon Millardos wasn't Shaydon's real name either. Well, Shaydon had been his name in his former life, but Millardos was all 'the Master.' Personally, Shaydon didn't care much for the last name.

Having been disillusioned early in life, Shaydon Millardos knew quite a bit about the evil workings of the world he lived in. Something he would never admit to a single soul was that he had been sold to the Master a couple of years ago. Before then, he had been the naive and trusting child that Sabre was.

Frankly, Shaydon had no desire to become an assassin. Killing, stealing, and all that good stuff was pretty bothersome and not worth the trouble. It was true. The one thing Shaydon truly lacked was ambition. He liked to blend in, mix with the crowd of average people and avoid notice. And he was pretty damn good at it too. It was just too bad that he was _too_ good at it, good enough to catch the Master's notice. Or perhaps he hadn't been good _enough_ because after a long and tiresome chase, the Master's bodyguard had caught him for listening in on a conversation between the Master and a couple of people who happened to be his ex-parents.

That was the day his life turned upside down. It was on that very day that he was cut away from his safe little world and shipped into the South-Western Wing. The introduction to his new occupation that would last his entire (likely) very short life had been brief and cold. Perhaps that was why he decided to keep his hair long and uncut. It would be the only constant he had left from his old life. The only thing that stayed untouched by the dirty hands of the underground Mafia that the Master's organization was.

Or so he liked to think.

Regardless, one thing Shaydon knew for sure was that this new Sabre kid was going to be in for a whole lot of surprise. This was a strange new world that was anything but gentle. Hopefully, the kid would be strong enough to stay relatively whole throughout the entire ordeal. Not that the ordeal would likely end anytime before death, but still. The kid was definitely a refreshing addition to this dark, underground life.

And as he pushed open the door to the training room, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could preserve this new bit innocence in his life.

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As it turned out, Shaydon and Harry made it into the training room with half a minute to spare. The teacher was already there, a bubbly thirty year old woman dressed in an overlarge t-shirt and sweatpants. Although bubbly and thirty year old usually didn't go together, they somehow meshed together in this odd woman.

"Ah! A new student!" the woman exclaimed happily, fingers subtly adjusting the pins that held her hair up in an artfully done bun. She was situated on a large wooden crate.

Her voice echoed throughout the stone chamber and it was then that Harry realized that she should remove her eyes from the odd woman and inspect her surroundings.

"Twenty second left before I must dole out punishments," the woman chirped sweetly.

The door swung open and four children swept through in a rush.

Harry mentally counted the number of students, or "mini-assassins" as she had taken to calling the Crows. Twenty-two excluding herself. Supposing that each of the other six bed chambers housed four beds each and that they were all taken, there should have been twenty-four mini-assassins in all. Therefore, two were missing.

"Five." The woman was starting to count down.

The door swung open again and this time, a dark haired girl stumbled through, cursing at the door.

"Four."

The chamber was quite large, possibly three quarters the size of the Main SW Hall, and it took on the shape of an oval. Walls of gray stone were lined with racks containing weapons of all kinds and the stone floor, made of the same stone as the walls, was chipped in many different places, making it rough and difficult to walk on.

"Three."

Harry flicked her eyes up towards the ceiling and she almost had to gasp. There was a mirror... no, correction, the ceiling _was_ a mirror. Her surprised reflection stared back at her from the high ceiling.

"Two."

Three meters to her left, Milliardo was sitting on the ground next to a particularly impressive chunk of absent stone floor. His eyes were closed and his arms relaxed by his side.

"One."

Harry glanced nervously at the door, wondering if there was indeed a missing mini-assassin. Or perhaps, there wasn't, and she had been presumptious in her supposition of four beds per room. After all, the other rooms could be of different sizes or shapes. It was entirely too possible. Or, maybe there was indeed a missing person since the teacher was still counting down, but her expression wasn't one of testy impatience.

"Time. Lesson start." She hopped off the crate and smiled widely.

Suddenly, the door swung open and in came a boy of thirteen. Hair disheveled and clothes wrinkled, it looked like he had just climbed out of bed which was probably the case. "Am--" he panted. "I -- " More panting. Then, "Late?"

Harry looked around, and saw that practically no one was paying attention to the latecomer. Apparently, it was an everyday occurence.

"Yes, Harry, you are," chirped the bubbly teacher.

Harry jerked as she heard her name, unable to stop the reaction until it was out. Well, this Harry person was completely her opposite. Sandy hair cropped short and close to his scalp, the boy had slim but sensual eyes that glowed a light purple. His skin was tan bordering brown and his build was tall and strong.

For a moment, Harry wondered if this other Harry was going to receive punishment because the bubbly woman didn't seem like a Spartan type of person. The thought went out the window as the woman skipped over to the sandy haired Harry and abruptly tugged a tan ear, twisting it while she led him over towards her crate. "Haryan East, you give me four hundred hand-stand pushups on 'the box' right now."

Harry had to stifle a snicker as she heard the latecomer's last name. So, she was north and Haryan east. Who were the other two cardinal directions? She now suspected the Master chose names for all of the assassins.

Haryan, to Harry's surprise, hopped onto the crate and began to do pushups in handstand position. It both shocked her and scared her. Was she eventually to be able to do that? How much pain would she have to go through to reach that level? And oh god, what about all the stupid doors?

Fascination mixed with horror, Harry could not tear her eyes away from Haryan East as he did the punishment. It was then that she noticed his clothing, although wrinkled, shifted up and down a strangely bumpy surface beneath that was obviously not his body. She shifted her eyes to regard Shaydon and realized that he was wearing a uniform of the same design as Haryan's. Well, what did you know? They had uniforms. Her eyes swept the room a couple more times just to confirm this observation.

Each Crow was wearing a long sleeved shirt that was loosely tucked into baggy pants. There were drawstrings at the ankles and wrists that firmly fastened the uniforms so that it wouldn't slide up the limb as the children endured their training. Slight bumps could be seen around the calfs and forearms as well.

Scooting closer to Shaydon, Harry pretended to be entranced in the teacher's brightly satisfied face staring happily at the boy's straining muscles. The only thing scarier than a Spartan teacher was a Spartan teacher that smiled while she tortured kids.

Haryan East grunted "398" as he pushed his body away from his hands for the three hundred and ninety-eighth time. Harry Potter inched ever closer to Shaydon and as Haryan East exclaimed "400!" and collapsed on the crate, Harry Potter took the chance to poke Shaydon Millardos in the side.

Yep. Definitely something bumpy under the uniform.

Fortunately, everyone was too busy smirking or laughing good-naturedly at Haryan East to pay attention to Harry Potter. Unfortunately, Shaydon's hand shot to her wrist and gripped it tightly. The long-haired boy probably didn't like to be touched, thought Harry as she gulped down a nervous breath and smiled cheekily.

Shaydon stared pointedly at Harry, an elegant brow raised in question.

"It's bumpy under your uniform," Harry offered.

Shaydon stared at her strangely, then broke out into laughter.

The teacher huffed over to the two. "And what, may I ask, is going on here, Shaydon Millardo, New Student?"

Harry and Shaydon looked to their adjoined hands at the same time. Shaydon was still gripping Harry's small wrist, and quite tightly at that.

Abruptly, Shaydon removed his hand and shot a charming grin at the teacher. "Mallory! The new student has taken an interest to my uniform as he has yet to receive his own."

"Really?" the teacher asked skeptically. Then she turned her gaze to Harry. "And what might your name be?"

"Sabre North."

The teacher nodded happily. "Sabre, welcome to our community. You'll find it quite delightful here, I'm sure."

"Thank you," Harry replied courteously with a cordial smile.

"I will be your teacher for just about everything so we will definitely be getting to know each other. My name is Mallory Smith, but everyone is to call me Mallory."

"Yes, Ms. Mallory."

The bubbly woman frowned for a moment. "Mallory, not _Ms._ Mallory. I am not that old."

"Ch-yeah right," came a voice from behind the teacher. Several eyes followed the voice to see Haryan. "Thirty-three is plenty old."

Mallory smiled, but seemed to have a tick above her eye. "Haryan East, would you like to do another five hundred pushups from handstand position?"

"No, that's quite alright," Haryan replied with a smile of his own. "I was just making sure you didn't fill our new fellow assassin-in-training with lies."

"I'm sure you were. Now I'd appreciate it if you would take your concern and disconnect it from your mouth."

"As you wish, Mallory," replied Haryan, but there was a quiet "Old Hag!" disguised by a cough.

Harry near choked on stifled amusement herself. "Um.. Mallory?"

Mallory decided to let the insult slip and turned her attention back to the new student. "Yes, Sabre?"

"Am I going to get a uniform too?" the sweet-faced boy asked, tentative smile in place.

"Of course you are," Mallory smiled. "In just three days. You will discover that your current clothing is much more comfortable than the uniform here."

"Yeah, I was wondering what the bumpy stuff under the uniform is."

Mallory raised one finely sculpted brow. The new boy had noticed the tiny bumps under the rather loose uniforms? He was very observant. Perhaps that was why the Master had picked him up. "Well," Mallory replied, "Since you've asked, I'll tell you. They're weights. You're not to get your uniform for the first three days to get used to the heavy utilities of this place. You should have noticed, for example, that the doors are heavier than the normal household ones."

"No shit," came a mumbled voice from some student or other.

"The weights come with the uniform. There's a vest that weighs thirty pounds and ten pounds worth of weight on each arm. An additional twenty pounds will be added to each foot. The uniforms are all designed to be loose-fitting to cover the weights and make it look... less ridiculous."

Harry's eyes widened in a look that said, "Are you kidding me, more weights than the stupid doors? Do you realize that we are _children_ not donkeys?!"

"Yes, it will be quite painful and tiring for the first couple of weeks, but you will get used to it."

'That's what Anastasia said,' Harry thought sullenly. The prospect of staying in this below normal temperature underground... place was suddenly looking a lot less appealing.

----------

Mallory Smith was worse than the devil. She was the devil with a kind, smiling face that stared you in the eye as she watched you suffer.

The warm up was to sprint for an hour. Sprint, not jog. If a person slowed too much for Mallory's liking, the time started all over again for him or her. Therefore, Mallory had quite a few stop watches on her person. For the children who couldn't last a whole hour, they were required to do three hundred pushups. Harry dully noted that the number was less than Haryan's punishment had been, but she was too tired to think much on it.

After the warmups, the children sprawled all over the floor to stretch. Harry was forced into positions she never even knew was possible for the human body. To say it hurt like hell would be a vast understatement.

Next was hand-to-hand combat. Mallory was one heck of a strict teacher. But then again, they _were_ assassins-in-training. The other mini-assassins were all much better than the fumbling Harry and she felt her heart sink at the distance between them. It would take forever to catch up with them in just combat. And that wasn't even taking into consideration the strength training from the doors and the weights.

It seemed she was destined to die here in this cold, dreary place of overweight household objects. Oh god. Household objects. Would her toothbrush weigh four thousand tons as well? The very thought made her stomach turn.

----------

Her toothbrush did not, in fact, weight four thousand tons. The handle weighed five pounds, but there was nothing funny with the bristles so it was fine.

Life in the underground maze was actually not that bad if one discounted the fatigue, sore muscles, and freezing temperature. Speaking of freezing temperature, Harry caught her first cold six nights after her first day. It soon developed into a full blown fever, but she managed to make it into the Main SW Hall before collapsing so it was all okay. True to her word, Anastasia found her on her way to check up on the Crows' training lesson one day and lugged her off to the infirmary.

It took three days in the normal temperatured hospital room for Harry to recover. By then, she had successfully organized all of her thoughts concerning her current situation.

So, she was, apparently, in training to become an assassin, thus explaining the evil temperatures and strenuous work-outs. There were two more levels to pass, the Ravens and the Phoenixes, until she could become an elite and gain relative freedom. Also, it was pretty clear to her that she would never be able to get out of this line of work without drastic measures that could end up with her dead or dying. This matter was to be held off until at least gaining entrance into the realm of the elites. If she couldn't fend for herself, how could she possibly hope to escape? And even if she happened to by some fluke of fate escape, how would she survive?

No, first things first. Make it towards the top.

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"Class is over, my little Crows," Mallory grinned. "Now get going. You have two hours before dinner."

Harry joined the other mini-assassins and milled towards the exit.

A year had passed since she first joined the group of assassin trainees. She had had a grand total of forty seven colds and fevers in the first couple of months before her body adjusted to the harsh temperatures of the South West Hall, a new record. Not that it was anything to be proud of, but the last kid who surpassed twenty eight fevers never woke from the twenty ninth.

"What do you have planned for the next couple of hours?" Harry asked as she fell in step beside Shaydon Millardos.

"Not much," replied Shaydon as he pushed open the dorm door. Then, he abruptly let go as he walked in and watched as it slammed into the small boy behind him.

"Ouch," Harry conceded as she stuck out an arm to defend her face. The cold stone slapping against her arm did indeed hurt.

"You should always watch where you're going," Shaydon quipped wisely.

"And you should hold the door for the people behind you. It's common courtesy." Of course, Harry didn't actually know if it was common courtesy or not since no one ever held the door for her while she was a street rat and certainly not while she had lived with the Dursleys. What she did know was that in the world of common everyday people who went to the supermarket and all, people were much kinder to each other.

"Too bad assassins don't do courteous. All we do is steal and kill. Oh, and the occasional robbing too."

Shaydon sat down in front of a computer and turned it on.

In the whole twelve months that Harry spent in the South West wing, the only person she had attempted to make friends with was Shaydon Millardos.

Within the crows, competition was harsh. No one really had friends because the system was designed so that the best students got advantages while the worst were punished. To help another person was to disservice oneself. It was stupid and completely not worth it.

Rankings were posted at the end of every week in the commons after everyone was tested at for mastery of weaponry, combat, marksmanship, computer security, and projectile throwing. The five worst Crows were subjected to no dinner for the rest of the week. The temperature in their room was also specifically turned down ten degrees celcius from what the rest of the South West Wing was. Luckily, Harry managed to keep her position as sixth from the bottom so she barely escaped the punishments.

The top three, however, were given a chance to challenge the bottom three among the Ravens for a chance to rise in level. Miraculously, Shaydon always managed to be number four, never higher or lower in rank. It was obvious to Harry that Shaydon had no desire at all to rise to the Ravens and therefore was the only person she had a chance to befriend. Too bad Shaydon didn't seem as keen in sharing her company. In fact, Harry would go as far as to say he, for the most part, avoided her as much as possible.

"You know," Harry began as she settled herself upon the arm of Shaydon's couch, "Everyone knows that you're more than good enough to be a Raven. You do much better in practice than during the tests."

"Oh?" Shaydon asked absentmindedly as he typed furiously, looking to get past the fifth level of the South West wing's security system. No one had actually ever gotten past all the barriers and obstacles securing the controls to the South West wing, so no one really knew how many levels the controls were obscured by.

"Yeah..." Attention now fully captured by Shaydon's computer screen, Harry trailed off. "Hey, you just got past the sixth level! Now I finally get it! You have to circumvent _that_ first. God, how could I not have thought of that?!"

Her head snapped up as she felt herself become victim to several vicious glares. Over half the Crows had not yet circumvented the sixth level.

"What can I say," Harry shrugged. "The guy's a genius."

There were several scoffs as people returned to their business. Harry's attention went back to Shaydon. "Hey, Shaydon, how come you don't want to become a Raven?"

"I like being a Crow," was the short response.

"Mhm," Harry hummed disbelievingly, but she didn't force the subject. Straightening up, she stretched the kinks out of her back as she went back to the training room to practice weaponry.

----------

"Hey Mallory?"

Mallory scowled as she was knocked out of her meditation. "What do you want?" she snapped.

"Is there any way I can get more weights?" Harry asked, ignoring the teacher's grumpiness. She had planned to speak with Mallory before she went into meditation, but there had been other students lingering for weaponry training so she had to wait until they left for dinner. Currently, she was missing her favorite meal of the day.

Mallory's unhappy expression suddenly transformed into a smirk. It was very unnerving. "Ah, I was wondering when someone was going to ask for some. Only one person has asked me before."

"Haryon East," Sabre guessed as he was the only one who had always been late. The funny thing was, Haryon's punishment had always been harsher than any other mini-assassin's when late for training. Most people thought it was because Mallory disliked Haryon, but Harry had long since guessed that Mallory, in fact, favored Haryon above all other students. It was just in the way she looked at him, almost as if he was the son she never had. Everytime he showed improvement, her eyes would beam with pride. Or, maybe that was all in her mind and Harry was just completely delusional and fancied herself a master reader of emotions.

Honestly, the latter seemed the most plausible.

"Correct." Mallory's eyes now started to take on a disturbing twinkle that sort of reminded Harry of that strange old man who had escorted her to the Dursleys.

"He had only arrived here five months before I did, right?" Harry asked.

"Correct yet again. You have a good information network."

Harry didn't bother telling Mallory that she had just accidentally eavesdropped on that particular bit of information. "However, he has managed to become a Raven just one month after I arrived, making it a total of six months that he spent as a Crow. I hear that he is now a Phoenix. I was wondering how he managed to advance so quickly." That particular bit of information had been gleaned during a trade of information between two mini-assassins. She had, after all, just been attempting to break past the fourth level in security, but was it her fault that she could pay attention to other things while she worked?

"You're really something else, Sabre." Mallory shook her head in amusement as she hopped off the crate she was always so attached to.

Curiously, Harry watched as her teacher kicked the crate over onto another side not once, but twice so that the crate was now upside down. Then, Mallory removed the top of the crate and all was forgotten.

"Oh lord!" Harry exclaimed as she peered into the crate. "That's a heck lot of weights."

"Oh yes," Mallory smiled. "Take the ones you want for now. There're many varieties. Come back anytime during dinner to change them."

"Thanks," Harry said with a silly grin as she combed through the weights.

It was really a funny sight. The crate was nearly taller than Harry herself so she was hanging off the edge of the crate, supported at the juncture between her tummy and her legs. Her head was buried way into the depths of the crate.

After selecting a few heavier weights, Harry changed into them right in the training room. When she was done, she threw her own weights back into the crate.

"Thanks again, Mallory," Harry chirped as she pulled her arms up in a stretch. "This was worth missing dinner for."

----------

The other crows looked on jealously as Harry seemed to exponentially grow stronger, though her marksmanship was still far from perfect. Guns were perfectly bothersome, in her opinion. They made too much sound and if she were to kill a person, not that she had yet but she certainly would if she became an assassin, a gun would be too much of a hassle. Through the bullet, everything could be easily traced back to her. Honestly, being an assassin itself was very much a hassle.

The whole hacking security game, on the other hand, became much easier after she learned to break past the fifth level. Just yesterday she had managed to break past the thirty-second level much to the disgust of her fellow Crows.

The weights were, in truth, not the real cause of Harry's rapid improvement. First, the weights had only helped improve her physical strength and stamina, and not her fighting techniques or combat skills.

What really helped came after her sudden increase of strength. Having been curious about the door on the opposite side of the South Western Entrance from the commons ever since her first day, Harry had attempted at least once a week during dinner to open that mysterious door. It had taken her two months of weight training before she had been able to even make it budge.

The door was, as Harry later discovered, eight inches thick, meaning it was around a hundred and sixty pounds. It opened into a hexagonal chamber and each of _those_ doors were also of the same weight as the first. However, Harry found that each of the five other doors opened to a whole new world of amazing things. For example, one led to an armory of the finest weapons, complete with piles of books about long lost martial arts. Another led to the most amazing library full of history and informative books on subjects she would have learned if she had gone to school like Chemistry and Physics. She even picked up a few foreign languages including French, Latin, and German.

She quickly decided that she would not advance to the Ravens until she finished perusing everything in the repertoire.

In order to safeguard her secret, Harry only visited during the night. Thus, she developed a strange and surely unhealthy habit of sleeping only three hours a night. For the first few mornings, she woke up looking like a zombie, but eventually her body adjusted to the pattern just as it adjusted to the low temperature of the South West wing.

By now, Harry had completely given up on becoming Shaydon's friend. She, after all, had full intentions of rising to the top unlike him. Harry secretly thought that Shaydon disliked being an assassin even more than she did, but really liked the whole hacking thing as he spent almost all of his free time on the computers.

Regardless, it took nearly the next year or so, much to the surprise of her fellow mini-assassins, for her to rise to a Raven's status. She was actually dubbed "mini-Shaydon" in her leftover time.

By the time she decided that she wanted to become a Raven, she was already eight.

Passing the test as one of the top three was no problem at all and defeating the lower leveled Raven in combat was even simpler. Now, all that was left was to see how different the Ravens were from the Crows.

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A/N: I know I'm spending quite a bit of time on Harry's time as an assassin trainee, but I really can't rush through this part and say "Yep, such and such time passed so now she's like super strong and can beat the stuffing out of Superman." Plus, I'm aiming for a bit of character development along the way.

Also, I know this chapter's pretty uneventful, but it's necessary preparation for the next chapter when things change drastically.


	4. A Change in Perception

A/N: Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Summary: AU. Harry's born a girl but registered as a boy. Neville's the BoyWhoLived. Voldemort's still out to off Harry and return. And oh yeah, there're actually several more organizations involved in this war than anyone would have guessed. It's one deadly game.

**A Deadly Game**

**Three: **

Honestly, the underground assassin housing would seem a lot smaller and cosier if only the sodding doors weren't so bloody heavy. And the blinding whiteness of the walls and floor weren't easy on the eyes either. It made a person want to carve obscenities into the bloody impenetrable surfaces. Just the thought of life there in the multi-chambered cage for an indefinite time made a person go insane.

"I'm really impressed, kid. Not even two years and you're already a Raven."

Anastasia had been prattling for the past thirty minutes or so, even after she had shown Harry into the sodding Raven's dorm which was almost exactly identical to her room at the Crow dorms. Only difference, everything was twice as heavy. Oh wait, the sodding beds were made of _stone_ of all the rock hard things to choose from. At least as a Crow, there had been access to a mattress, lumpy as it had been.

She tried not to seem too put out to be a Raven, really she did. But once Anastasia looked elsewhere, the pout that Harry tried so hard to suppress would come out. It was like she was a _kid_, she thought unhappily to herself, ignoring the fact that she very well _was _a kid. And perhaps that was why Anastasia seemed to be so relaxed and loose around her. Harry was more than certain that she exuded a certain naiveness that bordered on childishness and perhaps that relaxed people and loosened inhibitions?

Now, it had been thirteen minutes since Anastasia had started on how being the secretary to her father's underground "business" was very stressing, especially on her social life. Harry had to try very hard to suppress to ask what social life seeing as it would undoubtedly be more than a little difficult for her to get close to any normal people without letting loose the information that her father ran an underground assassin organization.

And perhaps that was why Anastasia was so unreserved around Harry. In her time as a Crow, she had come to visit her more than a few times, especially when she was feeling a bit down. The fact of the matter was, Harry was probably as normal as it got in the assassin business. Assassins, or children raised to become assassins tended to be... a bit eccentric or unsocial, not that anyone could blame them. There was generally little to no conversation and if there was, it was usually some trade of information two mini-assassins had going on.

"Sabre, are you _pouting_?" An amused voice cut through Harry's random thoughts.

"No. Why on earth would I be pouting?" Harry replied petulantly even as her lips curled into another pout.

"You_are_!" Anastasia exclaimed in glee. "You are so unbelievably _adorable_!"

"I am _not_."

Harry flopped back onto her bed only to wince as she hit the cold hard slab of stone. Just two minutes and she'd already forgotten that she was no longer in the Crow dorms where they had freakin' mattresses.

"You are," said Anastasia, eyes dancing with amusement. "It's the bed, isn't it? Don't like the thought of sleeping on rock, do you?"

"It's so hard," Harry complained. "And it's not comfy at all. Do we even get a blanket?"

"This is for a reason," Anastasia stated gleefully. "See, at night, the temperature gets to over a hundred degrees. You've dealt with the frigid SW wing, so this should be no biggie. You know we're only thinking for your best when we try to adjust you adorable guys for all types of conditions."

"That's wonderful," said Harry as she rubbed her aching back. "The bed's still bleeding hard though. And I don't think reducing us to ashes is going to change that."

"No, but it will prepare you for missions where you have to sleep on hard surfaces. You need to be able to rest well even if it's uncomfortable."

"Great, next thing you know, we'll be sleeping through electrical shocks to build our endurance to electrocution."

Anastasia's eyes took on an evil glint as Harry voiced that last opinion and Harry unconsciously started backing away. "Oh, you'll see," the evil woman said cryptically.

Harry gulped. "I don't think I want to."

"Nonsense!" Anastasia exclaimed jubilantly. "You'll do just fine. I always knew you were cut out to be a survivor. Knew it from the moment I saw you standing there next to Daddy, pretending to be brave."

"I was not pretending to be brave. I was just too shocked to register anything. I mean, I had just jumped into a strange glowing hole." Harry sat at the edge of the bed, swinging her legs back and forth.

"Hey, it was my idea, that light thing. Sure, people would definitely know that our lair was there, but at least they'd be too disoriented upon landing to do anything but be bound and tied. Besides, if they uncovered the hole in the first place, they pretty much already knew it'd be an entrance."

Harry hummed noncommitally before asking, "When do I have to start doing missions?"

"Definitely not as a Raven. Phoenix at least. And even then, it's the old ones that do the missions. Why? Eager?"

"Not really." Her legs continued to swing back and forth. "I just don't really know how I feel about killing people."

"I wouldn't really know." Anastasia walked over to take a seat next to Harry. "Daddy doesn't let me on any missions. I mean, I've had to train with all the other assassins, but I don't use it for anything."

"I think he really loves you," said Harry, voice barely a whisper, willing her voice not to crack. If only she had a father...

"I know." Anastasia flopped backwards onto the stone bed. "My mum died when I was six and then he suddenly became all cold and closed off. I think it was then that he started this whole assassin business. He's doing so well in the economic and political world and I think it's mainly because of this."

"You're probably the most important person to him," noted Harry.

"Maybe. I'm not so sure anymore. I used to be his little girl, you know? But lately, he doesn't say anything. It's like he's not there anymore. He just eats, breathes, sleeps, and _works_. We never do anything together anymore." _And he's all I have left._ The words were unsaid, but not unheard.

"I wish I had a father." The words were out of her mouth before she could think.

"I'm sorry," Anastasia muttered, "I probably sound like a prat, complaining about my dad when you don't even have anyone. Most of the assassins don't. I think it kills them, you know. It kills them slowly and they begin to rot from the inside. And it's frustrating watching them become less and less human everyday."

"It's like a hole inside you. An empty space that slowly grows and eats at you. And you have no idea what to do. Sometimes, you just want to scream and destroy something." Harry looked at Anastasia from the corner of her eye. "Have you ever seen an assassin scream and destroy something?"

Anastasia snickered. "Yeah, there was once this guy; he's a veteran. But one day, he just got up and screeched and cursed and god, I didn't even know some of those words existed. Then, he broke all the chairs in Daddy's office. It was awful."

"So what's the insanity rate here?" Harry joked.

"A hundred percent." Anastasia had gotten up at some point and now she stared very seriously into Harry's eyes. "You don't belong here. You're not a killer. You're a survivor." She reached out to embrace the small figure.

When she withdrew, there were tears in Harry's eyes. Anastasia cared, but she would never love Harry because her world centered around her father. Harry knew, but why'd she have to go and hug her? It hurt more than she cared to admit.

"Well," said Anastasia after an awkward silence. "I'd better get going. You should get to the commons and learn about how things work here in the North Western Hall. It's much different from the Crow's."

She left without a backwards glance.

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A week later, Harry learned that life as a Raven wasn't much harder than the Crows'. They apparently graduated from the technological stuff and moved on to specialize in fighting. Specialized weapon training was the main thing everyone worked on. Other than that, there were reading and writing lessons, but those were a breeze for most of the people there. It was just the basics so that they wouldn't muddle on the documents should a mission call for the retrieval of important papers.

The doors here were twice as heavy as the ones in the South West wing. Body weights were also doubled. Weights were handed out and the mini-assassins had to sew them into their original weights. Harry now walked around with three times the weight as everyone else, much to her chagrin.

Temperatures normally ranged between 80 and 90 degrees fahrenheit but rose to 120 degrees at night. Soon, Harry got used to the routine.

Sure enough, her mutated sleeping habits carried over from her time as a Crow. So barring three hours of sleep every night, Harry trained and worked towards mastering her knives, the weapon she chose to specialize in. During the hours everyone else slept, she practiced form after form that she learned from that strange library in the South West wing in her room until they came so naturally they became subconscious.

In the daytime, Harry forged many partnerships with the other Ravens for exchange of information, etc. But nothing noticeably interesting really happened for the next couple of months as she slowly but steadily climbed the ranks in the Ravens.

Then, the day came when she met the Master in the grand library of the North Western wing. The entrance weighed a ridiculous amount of two hundred and sixty pounds, but the treasure behind it was definitely worth it.

The library there was even larger than the one in the South Western wing. More books than she could count lined... well everywhere and best of all, none of the books were replicas of the books in the South Western wing. She should know, she had read all of the ones from SW library.

Most of her time was spent there in the library. It was somewhat of a sanctuary for her. So it was rather surprising when one day, she opened the heavy door to find the Master lounged in one of the comfy armchairs, reading a book on the politics of Britain.

"Master?" Harry asked, eyes comically wide as she stepped into the room.

"Ah, you're the one I picked up from the box, aren't you?" the man asked as he looked up from his book. "I knew you were a smart chap. Only the fifth person to discover the libraries."

"Um... Master?"

The black clothed man stared with unfathomable black eyes. "Don't call me Master. My name is Shalom Prevalos. You may call me Mr. Prevalos. I think you've earned that privilege by finding this library. What's your name, boy?"

"Sabre North, Mr. Prevalos. Erm, would you like me to leave or something?" Harry was very unnerved at seeing his savior and master sitting so casually in a red armchair.

"No, no, enjoy yourself. Pay me no heed and go on with your reading."

"Um, thank you Sir."

Shalom Prevalos hummed noncommitally as he turned the page.

Harry soon got used to Mr. Prevalos's presence as he would occassionally be there reading. Sometimes, they even had casual conversations about anything and everything. It did not take long for Harry to warm up to the man because even though he seemed cold and emotionless, he was really a very kind person.

Soon, she would come to the library hoping for his presence. It was very comforting to read next to the man and whenever they got into a discussion, he would sometimes smile. His smile did funny things to her heart and she found herself yearning for him to look at her the way he looked at Anastasia. She wanted to be important to him the way his daughter was.

By March, she had finished all of the books in the North Western library was more than ready to move on to the Phoenixes. But for some inexplicable reason, she found herself reluctant to leave the North Western wing.

By April, it was clear that she had become addicted to the idea that it was possible for Shalom to love her like a daughter. After all, they conversed every other day. That was more than could be said for most other people.

And then, on the seventh, something absolutely wonderful happened.

As usual, she entered the library to meet with the sight of the black robed man reading in what she deemed "his" armchair. The book he was reading that day was called Around the World: Great Civilizations Around the Globe.

She settled herself on a comfortable blue armchair after retrieving one of her favorite books and set about reading, pointless as it was since she could already recite it from memory. Every once in a while, she would sneak peeks at the man from the corner of her eye.

Suddenly, Shalom closed his book and turned his head to look at Harry.

Her heartbeat increased in speed. Had he noticed her staring? Did he realize that she fervently wished that he could be her father? Had he completely seen through her?

But no, it was none of the above. He shifted and picked up a small package from beside his armchair. Why had she not noticed it when she had entered? Was she so obsessed with the idea of a father that her observation skills had all gone down the drain? Apparently so, she noted dryly.

"Here." Shalom tossed the package to Harry. "Happy Birthday, Sabre."

Birthday? For a few seconds, Harry sat shocked with the package in her hands. Then, she remembered. That was the birth date she had told Anastasia her first day here. It was most likely the birth date written on her fake records. Then, a grin slowly spread across her face and evolved into a breathtakingly beautiful smile as she stared almost incredulously at the first present she had ever received. The fact that it had come from her pseudo father figure made it all the more special.

"Thank you," she said breathlessly as she fingered the package. Then, carefully, she picked the tape off of the wrapping paper. Slowly, almost reverently, she unwrapped the present. It was a necklace made of hematite. At the end of the black necklace, there was a cross. It was beautiful and the most precious thing she now owned.

She quickly undid the necklace and put it on, the weight settling warmly upon her skin.

"It's wonderful," she told Shalom. Her happy smile had not left her face the entire time.

He smiled at her before picking his book up again and returned to his reading.

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The gift was certainly a turning point. Perhaps it was because she now had enough confidence that Shalom Prevalos really did care about her on some level. A week later, she took the test and rose to a Phoenix.

This time, Anastasia was not the one to bring her to the South Eastern wing and settle in. It was, strangely, Haryon East.

"So. You're a Phoenix now, huh?" Haryon asked as they headed towards the South Eastern wing.

"Yeah." Harry was not really in the mood for conversation. She had noticed that ever since her correspondence with Shalom had started, she had been seeing less and less of Anastasia. She was almost certain that the girl knew she was getting closer to her father. But if she knew, she never said anything.

"That's impressive. You've only been here for two and a half years and you're already a Phoenix." Haryon East, apparently, did not understand that she did not want to talk.

"Yes, well you're already an Elite," Harry retorted, deciding to indulge him. He seemed the stubborn type of person and probably wouldn't ease up on the conversation attempts until she spoke.

"Oh? Got an information network handy?"

"Just the usual information exchanges we all have."

"Hm. What else do you know?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Haryon pushed open one final door and they entered an octagonal chamber with eight doors. "Welcome, Sabre North, to the North Eastern wing." He swept his arm out in a flourish.

The effect was completely lost on Harry. "So where's the dorm?" she asked, looking curiously at each door.

Haryon sighed as he pushed open the door closest to the left. "Yeah yeah, you're just going to become a Phoenix. No big deal, huh? I, personally, was so excited I couldn't fall asleep on my last day as a Raven."

"You'd lose sleep over something like this?" Harry's eyebrows shot to her hairline as she stared inquiringly at the prodigy.

"Well yes, doesn't everyone?"

Harry coughed as she entered the dorms. She also noted that each door was nine inches thick, one hundred and eighty pounds.

"You have a single room," Haryon said as he pushed open the door closest to the right, "Just like you had for the past two and a half years."

"How do you know?" Harry chanced a side-glance at the rather tall boy. He was at least two feet taller than her.

"Hey, I have my information sources too." He winked a purple eye at her.

Harry rolled her eyes and looked around to observe her new surroundings and promptly froze in shock. "There're no beds!" she exclaimed.

Haryon smirked. "Of course. Before, you slept on a stone bed. Now you get to sleep standing against the wall. If you look down, you will see that the floor is electrically charged. The bottoms of your shoes are rubber so you don't get shocked, but if you fall or try to sleep on the floor, you will get shocked."

"You can't be serious." Harry stared at the place where a bed should have been.

"Oh, I'm very serious. You'll find that being a Phoenix is completely different from being a Raven. Here, training consists of pain resistance and poisons. You will learn every single conceivable poison and their antidotes. You will learn them by taste, smell, texture, etc. It will be... painful to say the least. Also, there are lessons on seduction. You will learn how to please men and women alike and how to attract them to you."

Harry's mouth was agape and her eyes were wide as saucers. "Seduction?" she asked incredulously.

"Of course. Why do you think only the pretty ones were chosen for this profession?" Haryon looked at her in amusement. The child was really too cute for words.

"But that's... gross," said Harry. She wrinkled her nose as she thought about the concept of sex. Really, she could not see any purpose to it except to reproduce and she didn't want to do that anytime soon if at all. It was completely inconceivable to her why people would do it otherwise.

"Gross," Haryon chuckled, "But necessary for some of the missions. In some cases, you will be going incognito and earning the assignment's trust and sometimes lust. It loosens tongues, you know."

"I don't like this assassin business," Harry sighed.

"No one really likes it." Haryon's voice was cold now; serious. "Except for those who have gone so far into insanity that they have lost their humanity. They take pleasure in killing and bloodshed and seduction and rape. We just have to make sure we never become like that."

"If you don't like it," said Harry, "then why do you do it? Why don't you just leave or something?"

Haryon laughed humorlessly. "At first, it was because I couldn't leave. Then, it was because there was something holding me back. Plus, you can't get out at all except for missions. And before your first mission, they feed you a rare and deadly poison. There is no antidote, only a medicine that will keep the poison at bay for about a week or so. You're essentially stuck from that moment on."

"Then what's holding you back besides the poison?" Harry asked quietly. "You could just learn the formula for the medicine and run."

"Innocent children like you," Haryon replied with honest eyes. "I can't just let all the innocent kids just walk into this business and die unprepared."

He took ahold of Harry's chin and abruptly stooped down to capture her lips in a brief kiss.

Then, he released her and made for the door. "That's to prepare you for what's to come," he called over his shoulder as he pushed through the one hundred and eighty pound door.

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Indeed, Phoenix training was completely different from Crow and Raven.

Harry almost wished she was back in Raven. Almost. Because although she disliked what she was learning here, she knew that she had to quickly become an able assassin. To be useful for Shalom. And perhaps once she could help him with what he needed, they would become closer and he would like her more. He had, after all, respected her for finding the libraries.

The poisons made her miserable. They started "light" with poisons that weren't completely deadly, meaning it didn't cause immediate death. These were in general poisons that were consumed by way of mouth and while not fatal, they generally caused a great amount of pain and discomfort.

First, she had to learn to distinguish the poisons by taste and in liquid. A cup of wine laced with some unknown poison would be set before her and she'd swirl it in the glass to search for any distinguishing properties. Then, she would sip it and swish it in her mouth for any particular off taste. Finally, she would gargle it for any off-setting properties. It was a very tedious process and she ended up more often than not very very sick until the teacher deemed her suffering sufficient enough to earn the antidote.

She was never quite fond of that teacher. He was a short stocky man with incredibly shrewd eyes. It didn't help that he loved to see people in pain, but fortunately he was paid to keep everyone alive.

Her favorite poison, if indeed anyone could have a favorite poison, was probably the Heart Lock Eternity. Once consumed orally or transferred through blood, the person would die within hours, but not before experiencing the most excuciating heartache. It was named by a woman who made poisons and antidotes for a living. As could be guessed, her life was one of underground liasons. However, she fell in love with a merchant who sold cloths. They were very happy together until one day he learned of her profession and consequently abandonned her with their newborn child. Just upped and ran away, the coward. Of course, it was probably reasonable to fear for his life, but he nonetheless broke her heart and their family.

Even more unfortunately, the woman had loved the man more than she loved anything else, including her daughter. She created a poison that would eat her heart away and dull the pain she suffered from her broken heart. The physical pain worked and as she died, she left a note for her employer about the poison, her last masterpiece: Heart Lock Eternity. It locked an eternity's worth of heartbreak into several short hours until the person died peacefully in the end, numb to everything.

The woman must have loved the man very much for her heartbreak to be so painful that even the excuciatingly painful effect of the poison seemed dull in comparison. It was meaningful in an inexplicable way to Harry Potter, girl who had never been loved.

Throughout the lessons, there was only one poison that they never really studied and that was the Angel Chain, the poison administered on every assassin before a mission.

They were taught the effects of the poison. If the medicine was not administered, the innards of the stomach and intestines would fester and rot away after a week. By then, there would be no saving the person.

The poison itself was rumored to have a very peculiar taste, sweet but bitter. But the medicine was said to be tasteless like water.

Harry did not look forward to ingesting either of the two.

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Once every week or so, Harry would return to the North Eastern library to keep Shalom company. But for some reason, ever since she had become a Phoenix, Shalom spoke less and less. He seemed to grow more distant with each passing week and Harry was growing desperate.

On another note, lessons on seduction began on her third week. It was embarrassing and awkward, but Harry attempted her best. The students would learn how to strip their clothes in a seemingly innocent yet suggestive way. They even practiced different types of smiles: sultry, suggestive, welcoming, teasing, pouting, and even loving. Those were what Harry was best at, acting out different facial expressions.

They had different partners each lesson and attempt to seduce each other with the techniques they learned. They would go as far as they could without actually doing the act of sex because no one really knew what kind of diseases another might have. Personal information was all kept under a tight lid.

Harry at first disliked these lessons, but soon learned to burrow her mind deep into her conscious. She built a Liar's Palace and formed false memories of life as a concubine, pleasing an emperor for the sake of survival. While her mind could sink beneath the Palace and observe, the personality of the Liar's Palace acted and controlled her body in its place. It was like having a false personality assembled at will.

Even before the creation of the Liar's Palace, Harry found that the embarrassment and humiliation was easier for her than most others. When she removed her clothes, she found that she had all the anatomies of a male, at least to the sight. But she found that if she touched certain areas that she did not have in the body without the water silk, she could not feel a thing. In other words, it was like the male anatomies existed only in appearance and touch yet didn't really exist... to her.

Harry was thankful for the fake male body, really she was. It was well known that in these seduction classes, the females had it worst. They had two places in the private area for men and women to potentially invade. Males only had one. It was a great relief to feel half the humiliation because that's what it was. Utter humiliation. Showing people the body and creating reactions to suit their needs. It was funny how in a way, they were learning complete and utter control over their body, even over their hormones. Harry sincerely doubted that normal people could do such.

As for nights in her new dorms, sleep was torturous. Exhaustion always took over after a long hard day's of work, but sleep was anything but peaceful.

Leaning against the wall was the most tiring position Harry had ever tried. Oftentimes in the night, she would fall over and get the shock of her life... literally from the ground. As time passed, though, she learned to banish pain from the conscious mind and sometimes she would sleep, electricity coursing through her body, for minutes before she would get up and position herself against the wall again.

Life was just pain, suffering, and learning.

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Then, the day came for her first mission. Harry was slightly excited and mostly nauseous.

The poison teacher came to her and administered the Angel Chain. It was as sweet and bitter as she had heard, the taste of the poison as well as her feelings. But she would finally be of some use to Shalom so it was a good thing, no?

Harry gathered her weapons, two knives strapped against each ankle. Smaller knives, used for throwing, lined the bracelet of sheaths inside her sleeves. A gun was in its holster by her left hip. While she was right handed, she aimed better with her left.

The assignment was to assassinate John Meyer, a person who was likely to take it upon himself and run for mayor. That could not happen so it was Harry's job to stop him, once and for all.

Harry exited from the South Western exit after putting on a black mask that showed only the whites of her eyes, carefully making her way to John Meyer's house. In her right hand she held a map of his rather large house. This assignment was supposedly an easy one as it was her first one. He would be home tonight with only his daughter for company. He would also not be expecting this assassination so there would be no guards outside the ones posted outside.

Still, she clutched at the black cross against her neck tightly for the courage to go through with her first assignment. To make the first step. To kill for the very first time.

Thirteen minutes later, as expected, Harry made it into the house with no problems at all.

Things did not go so smoothly after that. She found the man in the living room, sitting by the fire with a young girl in his lap. She was curled up, fast asleep, golden hair flickering with haunting colors under the light of the large fire. He was mindlessly stroking her hair and staring at her with the adoration only a father could offer.

He looked up into the fire as he heard the click of safety behind his had and the feel of the barrel of a gun against his head. "He doesn't want me running for mayor," he whispered into the warm air.

"No, he doesn't," Harry replied in a voice several tones lower than her normal one.

"Spare my child." It wasn't a request. It was an order.

"We'll see." A loud shot rang through the air and blood spattered, covering the sleeping girl with crimson droplets.

The golden haired girl slowly stirred and opened her eyes to see her father with blank eyes. Her frightened blue orbs glanced around frantically for something, anything, finally falling on the masked figure behind her father. The person was short and the girl could tell that it was a young boy, not that much older than herself.

"Why?" the young girl found herself asking her father's murderer.

"Because _he _ordered me to."

"WHY?!" the young girl screamed, finding no solace in the cold answer. And her eyes stared with fear and another unreadable expression at the murderer.

Harry knew it was time to leave. She opened a large window and jumped out, but not before the image of the frightened girl etched itself into her memories. And as the image of the assassination and then the girl repeated itself over and over again in her mind, she finally identified the other emotion in the young girl's eyes. It was hatred. Hatred for taking away her precious daddy.

And her hands felt so dirty as she flicked the safety back on and stuffed the gun swiftly into its holster. She ran, footsteps silent as the night, trying to outrun the deed she had done that night.

But no matter how fast she ran, she could not escape. She had taken a father away from that little girl. And that girl would hate her forever. She was just like the Voldemort person who had taken away _her_ parents. Because now she suddenly remembered. Remembered that night when the scarlet eyed monster waltzed into her parents' house and murdered them; took away what she had always wanted. And now that she had done the same to another, she suddenly felt that she did not ever deserve that kind of warmth that she had always craved. She was no longer deserving.

But at least, she had helped Shalom. She still had Shalom, right?

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As she stumbled wearily back through the South Western entrance, she was met by Anastasia. Anastasia who had been friendly to her for the past two and a half years. Anastasia who had looked upon her with warmth. Anastasia who had coincidentally ignored her since she had started meeting her father in the North Western library. Now, as she looked at the tired and bloodstained Harry, all she could muster was a pity filled expression.

Mouth firmly pressed into a straight line, Anastasia removed the black mask and patted her on the back. "He's in the North Western library," she whispered. So she had known of Harry's meetings with Shalom. She probably even knew of her desires for a father, for _her_ father.

"Sorry," Harry managed to mumble as she walked wearily into the South Western wing. She really was sorry that she had tried to steal Anastasia's father, but she didn't regret it nor would she stop trying.

Anastasia just looked at Harry with a sympathetic frown and Harry did not understand. Still, she made her way toward the North Western library.

And there he was as Harry somehow found the strength to push open the heavy library door. He was settled upon his armchair, reading a small red book entitled, Killing in Cold Blood.

Harry shivered a little as she read the title before she made her way to an empty armchair. She slumped into it and felt the fatigue of the night fully catch up with her. She forced her eyes open as she turned to look at the man she had come to regard as a distant father figure.

"I did it. My first mission," Harry whispered as she played with her necklace.

Shalom Prevalos did not respond verbally, but he looked up from his book. And he stared at Harry. Stared with an unbelievable expression of contempt and disgust.

And Harry faltered, blinked, then faltered again as she looked into black eyes of deep loathing.

She understood. She finally understood. Anastasia's sympathetic look. Anastasia's ignoring her after she had initiated contact with Shalom, or Mr. Prevalos. _Master_. He was no longer Mr. Prevalos to her. With her first mission, she was officially an assassin and he her master. And even as he stared at her with a determinedly fierce look, she found herself disbelieving that this was what was happening.

Then, he opened his mouth and spoke. "You are an assassin, a filthy tool to be used. You are no longer a child. Do not presume that anyone would ever love you." _I will never love you_. The words were not spoken, but Harry heard them all the same.

And the tears started, pouring down her cheeks in rivers. And Harry began to berate herself. Hadn't she heard that Shalom's precious wife had been killed by an assassin of a rival politician? He must hate assassins. But then why did he then cultivate assassins which he hated? Some twisted form of revenge for his wife, of inflicting pain upon himself?

And why did Harry believe that he could ever earn love? From the moment he was born, his fate was sealed. Without parents, she had lost the prerequisite for the stupid sodding emotion. There was no such thing as love, not for Harry and it took all her strength of will to prevent the bitter laughter from escaping her lips. But she could not repress the twisted smile that stretched across her face.

There was nothing left for her here. So she left. Left without looking back at the man she had once hoped to love and love her in return.

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The seventh of April came and passed.

She did not receive a present for her birthday.

She did not even see Shalom Prevalos after that night in the library.

As a matter of fact, she had not even seen Anastasia since then. She was now an assassin and assignments and lessons were the only constants of her life. The only things that existed in her life.

And the necklace. She never took it off. What was once a precious gift was now a symbol of betrayal and a constant reminder that she was a person that could never be loved. And she would wear it always, as a reminder that love had never and would never exist for her.

But something else had also changed since that night in the library. She felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her core. And occassionally, things would float just a little bit when she was feeling particularly angry or sad. Strange things happened. Besides that, she felt more whole than she had ever felt before and when she closed her eyes and sank beneath her Liar's Palace, she discovered that there was more.

If she sank even deeper, she could find her core and it was no longer empty. It was now brimming with power, like magic. But that couldn't be. Wasn't she a squib? It was complete nonsense.

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Slowly, her features began to change. It was subtle at first, but soon she noticed it. She could only hope that others did not. Okay, maybe it was time to rethink the "Harry Potter is a squib" concept and time to accept that she did, indeed have magic. It was time for a little experiment.

_Wingardium Leviosa_, Harry commanded in her mind, focusing her newfound power into the words. Her toothbrush shot to the ceiling. Oh crap. How was she going to remove her impaled toothbrush?

Perhaps, this was the case with all squibs? The magic was just somehow blocked in their system and it took something to break the dam? Except, if that were the case, most squibs probably never broke the dam. Or perhaps Harry was just one very strange and unnormal person. The latter actually seemed like the more likely possibility. It was just plain sad.

Also, something else to think about. What if the Master found out about this magic not to mention change in appearance? She would definitely be subjected to much suspicion and likely treated as a freak. Master would probably hate her even more, not that she really cared what he thought about her anymore, but still. It would be even worse if he were a wizard. He would surely realize that she was using water silk... and that could definitely be it! Her world and perspective had been shifted in the past month or so. It might have made her personality more similar to another relative, therefore justifying the change in appearance.

There was no choice. She could not stay. It was absolutely necessary that she leave before she completely changed into a different person, so to speak.

Forgetting the toothbrush, Harry set out to search for the only person who might possibly help her escape, Haryon East.

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Haryon East had just finished a mission and delivered the marked documents to the Master when he bumped into Sabre North. Actually, he thought it was Sabre North, but the little boy actually looked quite different.

What was once clear hazel eyes were now glowing a molten gold. Chestnut hair had darkened into a cherry wood brown. But the delicate shape of the nose and mouth was still there.

Harry, who had just remembered that she could use magic had finally cast a point me spell and found Haryon. She had been running around quite a bit for the past half hour searching for the young man.

"You...are you Sabre North?" Haryon asked inquiringly, one eyebrow quirked high.

"Me? Of course I am!" Harry exclaimed as she caught her breath. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You look a bit different." Haryon was grinning now.

"How could I possibly--" Harry cut off as she suddenly recalled the appearance change. And she had been using magic for the past hour or so. Bloody hell. Did that speed up the transformation? "Um... what color are my eyes now?" she asked tentatively, half afraid to hear the answer. How could she have been so reckless?! Thank god no one had seen her in the hallways.

"A gold-ish color. Certainly not that adorable hazel color it was before." Haryon grinned roguishly.

"Oh god," Harry moaned, running her fingers through her hair.

"Don't worry, you're still very cute. Perhaps more adorable now than before," Haryon teased.

"Uh huh," said Harry, still trying to process everything. "Haryon, can we go to your room? I have something to say."

"A confession? Why, you're cute and everything, but I'm not really a pedophile, you know."

And then he had the nerve to _wink_.

Harry scowled as she kicked him in the shins. "Your room. Now."

"Alright, alright," Haryon raised his hands placatingly. "We're standing right outside of it, actually."

Haryon East put his thumb against the security pad next to his door and then punched in a couple of numbers he didn't let Harry see. Then, the door swung open and the two entered.

The room was small and hexagonal. There was a small stone bed in the center. "So this is an Elite's room, huh?" mused Harry as she looked around at the simple furnishings.

"Well, most Elites have fancier rooms. You know that only Elites get paid for their assignments, but I don't like to use it for furnishing." Haryon walked over to his bed and sat down. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

Harry looked around, scanning the room with her eyes for any cameras or microphones, satisfied when she spotted none. "I want to leave. I don't want to be here anymore."

Haryon raised a brow. "You're serious?"

"Yes. In fact, I would like to leave today. You've seen how my face is changing. It's sure to incite more questions." Harry huffed as she took a seat next to the sandy haired teen.

"Why are you telling me?" Haryon looked genuinely curious.

"Because I have a feeling you can help me."

Haryon laughed. "You, of all people, should know not to trust anyone."

"Yes, but I also know I won't be able to make it out myself. I need the help of someone who knows this place better than I do. Preferably a person who 'can't just let all the innocent kids just walk into this business and die unprepared.'" Harry cited his exact words.

Haryon laughed again as his own words were thrown back into his face. "You're not an innocent kid anymore, are you Sabre?"

"No, but I'm as close as you're going to get in this god-forsaken place," replied Harry, running fingers through her hair again. It seemed she did it often when she was stressed. It was definitely something to note and change.

"Okay then, Sabre. I'll help you. Really, you've got the devil's luck. No one's using the South Western entrance today. Although, the biggest question is: what are you going to do about the Angel Chain?"

"I will tell you then. Angel Chain is nothing more than diluted candy water with a touch of coffee." Harry looked straight into Haryon's eyes as she spoke. "It's control by fear. You won't actually die without the medicine which is in actuality just water."

"And how do you know this?" Haryon asked quietly.

"Why would no one have heard of the poison before unless it doesn't exist? Why doesn't it share any properties with any other poison we've encountered? This is, frankly, all guesswork. Believe it or not, it's your choice. But I'm choosing to believe because it's the only thing I can do." Harry didn't say anything about it being a gut feeling as she didn't feel that Haryon would put much stock in it.

"Okay then. I wish you the best of luck. I will go ahead of you and scout. Head for the South Western exit. If you see anyone besides me in there chamber, greet me and talk about how you're scared of your missions. If there is no one else there, leave. It's only fitting that you leave the same way you came two and a half years ago.You're nine now, aren't you?" Haryon looked at her with a sad expression.

"Yeah, just turned nine a month or so ago. Thanks for remembering." Harry smiled as she nodded for him to leave.

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The escape was successful, but there really wasn't a guard anyways in the first place. The Master would no doubt discover that someone had left in no time at all since the entrances were severely monitered, but unless it was a person invading, immediate actions would not be taken. It was, to be honest, easier to get out than to get in.

Harry was in full assassin attire with even the mask in place. She burst into a sprint, running with all she had, to just get away from the confinement of the past two and a half years. She had worked hard, harder than anyone else and nothing had come of it besides a stronger body and strange, useless information. It was time to make a decision. Mingle in muggle Britain or the wizarding world?

It was funny how decisions always seemed to be taken out of her hands.

She had just slowed into a walk in the alleyway the Master had picked her up from, reveling in her reminiscence. The full moon above shone down with a dull light. There was nowhere for her to go and she felt oddly free. But there was also nothing to do. Nowhere to sleep for the night.

Just as she pulled off her mask, something tumbled down from the sky. In a flash, Harry was in defensive position, knives drawn and ready. When nothing happened and she heard nothing more, she felt a bit silly. Then, she saw the lump that had fallen from what now seemed like the top of the building behind her and was instantly on guard again.

The lump, it turned out, was a person. A bleeding person stinking of too much alcohol. Dark, dirty hair was stuck to his scalp, matted with bood. Harry sincerely hoped she was not going to be involved in _this_ round of murder, or rather suicide as it seemed the person had jumped off the building of his own volition.

Harry checked his pulse and found that he was, fortunately or unfortunately no one could say, alive. "Hey kid," she whispered, "Couldn't you choose another alleyway for your suicide? This particular one has special memories for me."

There was a groan from the lump as eyes fluttered open and under the light of the full moon, Harry found herself looking into familiar grey eyes. In fact, if her memory served her right, Harry was fairly certain that she was looking at a very injured and suicidal Jamison Smith, leader of the London Street Brats.

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A/N: So, Harry does have magic. It's just been blocked since like... before birth and the strong feelings she got from her change in perception of the world finally broke the damn, so to speak.


	5. London Street Brats

A/N: Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Summary: AU. Harry's born a girl but registered as a boy. Neville's the BoyWhoLived. Voldemort's still out to off Harry and return. And oh yeah, there're actually several more organizations involved in this war than anyone would have guessed. It's one deadly game.

**A Deadly Game**

**Four: **

Jamison Smith was one screwed man. At twenty, he had no family, no nothing. Well, he _thought_ he had a whole bunch of awesome friends, but apparently that wasn't so. Really, at one point in his life he had felt like he was the king of the world. His friends had been _enough_ even though he had never had anyone else. Beyond that, they _understood_ him because they all more or less went through the same thing. They were always there for each other through good times and bad.

But that had all changed.

The Monday before last, he had been tied, gagged, and thrown into the London sewers. It had only been a miracle that saved his life and it had taken days to get the bitter taste and disgusting smell out of his system.

He had tried to go back to headquarters, a vast series of rooms built in the sewer passages, but was blocked every time. They didn't try to kill him, but he couldn't contact anyone. He had been dethroned from leader of the London Street Brats. And to make it worse, he didn't even know who had replaced him. He was completely and utterly alone.

The situation was so hopeless that he had wandered from nightclub to nightclub buying drinks with stolen money. He had been drinking himself into drunken stupor for days now.

The night before, however, had been a change. A drug dealer had met him in one of the clubs and offered him some LSD. It hadn't seemed like such a bad idea then, full of alcohol as he had been. Unfortunately, he had never dabbled in drugs before and naturally overdosed. For a complete four or five hours, he had been climbing walls and jumping roofs as a result of a dramatic trip. He had felt like he was lost, but the solution was only rooftops away.

On hindsight, it had been more than a little stupid. Completely and utterly moronic more like. Wait... then what had happened?

He recalled missing one of the leaps over a narrow London alley. Then... he had crashed to the floor. Ow...

Was he dead? No, he couldn't be. His head hurt something awful. Dead people didn't have headaches, did they?

His lips let out a loud moan and it was much too loud. Damn, he guessed dead people didn't have hangovers either. So, he was alive. And now that he had that established, where the hell was he?

He felt... warm, very unlike the cold streets of London. He tried reach up to rub his head with his hand. Okay, and very restricted. Was he freakin' tied up again?

He cracked open an eye. Blinding sunlight struck his sensitive pupil. Ouch. He shut it again immediately.

So, he was outside. In a warm place that was somewhat soft beneath him. Where did that leave him?

"You're awake," a soft voice spoke. But even that was entirely too loud.

"Unfortunately," he mumbled, trying to fall back asleep.

"Yeah, but look on the bright side. You didn't break your neck when you fell off the roof. Wait, I didn't mean to bring up somber points. I'll just leave you to wallow in your sorrow and next time you can try jumping off a bridge or something, not a house where a perfectly innocent person could be passing by beneath."

The sarcastic tone was cutting and ruthless. So, he had jumped off a building. Why did that not surprise him very much?

"Look," he tried in a quiet and even voice. "I just overdosed on LSD. It wasn't on purpose."

"And that's so much better than being suicidal," the voice retorted.

"You know what?" he tried again, voice rising with each subsequent word. "I didn't freakin' mean to jump off a building. I didn't freakin' mean to almost flatten you. And I sure as hell don't see what any of this freakin' has to do with you!"

Unfortunately, that little outburst more than took its toll on him and he groaned as his headache came back full force.

"You're right. None of this has anything to do with me. However, I have nothing better to do at the moment than watch you suffer the effects of a hangover and you are in no condition to do anything about it." The voice was amused, the damned bastard!

"Just wait until I get my bearings!" he threatened. "I'll beat you up so bad..." he trailed off as a particularly nasty pulse of pain shot through his head.

"Yes," drawled the voice. "And that is so very threatening coming from a person completely enwrapped in a pink sleeping bag."

Ah. A sleeping bag. That explains the warmth and dratted sun all in one. Now the only question was, what the hell was he dong in a sleeping bag, and a _pink_ one at that?

"How in the world did I get in a sleeping bag?"

"I put you there," the voice replied in a '_duh, you moron_' tone.

If his eyes were open, he'd roll his eyes. "Well I gathered that from your annoying presence. What I meant was why in the world did you put me in a sleeping bag?"

"Obviously," the voice drawled, "I did not want to be involved in the scandal of your murder."

"Huh," he said, "how considerate of you."

"Hmm," the voice hummed.

There was a few minutes of silence before he decided that opening his eyes was imperious to starting the day. Except, he didn't much want to start the day. If anything, he'd like to fall asleep until his bloody gang of homeless kids let him back into headquarters. Headquarters that _he_ had found in the first place!

After smartly turning his head to the side, he tried opening his eyes. He blinked rapidly to get used to the light of the sun. "What time is it?" he asked the pair of feet ten inches away from his face.

"A little after noon. The worst time to wake up, really. The sun's right up there."

He groaned as he tried to push himself from the sleeping bag. "How'd you spend the night?" he asked, sort of curious. Had the person gone home and then returned to check on him in the morning?

"Sleeping," the voice replied unhelpfully.

"Okay then, _where _did you spend the night?" he asked, rolling his eyes as he fumbled over the zipper next to his head. He had, in the span of three seconds, managed to slip his hand up.

"Home," was the reply confirming his thoughts.

"So you just left me here?" Not that he had expected anything else...

"You were hardly in any condition to move. Your head was bleeding, did you know that?"

"Probably cracked my head on my way down. Head wounds look bad and bleed a lot more than they should."

"I know."

Now that he had finally gotten out of that dratted sleeping bag, he observed that it was indeed pink. And not just any pink, but a vivid and bright hot pink. Oh god, he was never going to live this down.

"I can't believe it's pink," he whimpered pitifully, still looking at the sleeping bag.

"Is it a phobia?" asked the amused voice.

His head raised just a bit to catch a glance of the person who had, in all probability, just saved his life. And then his head shot up as he realized just how... short the person was.

Actually, it was a _kid_. Oh how that stabbed at his pride.

He frowned petulantly and crossed his arms as he sternly appraised the child. Short of stature and skinny in a lean kind of way, the young boy couldn't be more than ten years old. Smooth mahogany hair framed a small elfin face while warm golden eyes peeked through a thick fringe. The boy looked... deceptively innocent.

"Where's your mother?" Jamison asked in his best authoritative voice.

Too bad it had no effect on the tiny boy. "I don't know and I probably never will," the child replied with a disarming smile.

"Your father?" Jamison tried again.

"Again, I don't know and I probably never will." The boy was looking at him with something akin to amusement, goddamnit!

"Your guardian?!" Jamison finally exclaimed, having just quite enough of all this.

"Don't have one," the boy replied nonchalantly. Then, the smile transformed all of a sudden into a wicked smirk before he turned the question on Jamison. "What about you, Jamison Smith?"

"Of course I don't have-- how in bloody hell do you know my name?"

"You're quite famous, you know," the boy said, that aggravating smirk still in place. "What happened to the rest of your homeless army?"

Jamison sighed. His little organization actually was starting to gain quite some notoriety. Or at least, the cops were finally starting to keep an eye on them. It had finally occurred to the buggers some months ago that perhaps the suspiciously high crime rate had something to do with the large gathering of homeless orphans.

"I don't want to talk about it," he grumbled as he started contemplating the next step of his life.

Obviously, he was at a crossroad of some sort... again. The last time he had stood at a fork in the road, he had decided to stick with his orphaned homies instead of following his aunt and uncle. It wasn't like they were terrible people or anything, but after seven months of street life, he had really established close ties with his friends. Besides, they all sort of looked up to him as a pseudo-leader. And then later on, he _had_ become a leader... of a force over a thousand men -- er kids -- large.

It had become increasingly more difficult to manage the organization. Because that's what it had developed into, a warped sort of organization, not quite gang. They helped each other, but soon it became something like Communism in China or the Soviet Union. The leadership and hierarchy just could not disappear and a leader was absolutely necessary for the continued survival. They did have enemies after all in the forms of busybodies, sodding police officials, and former members who somehow conned their way into successful lives. The last were the most troublesome, since they knew inside information and were looking to destroy evidence of their less than clean past.

"Hmm..."

The quiet hum shook him from his musings and he scowled at the interruption.

"You've been ousted from your position in the gang thing of yours," the boy stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Wh-- what?!" he exclaimed, sputtering for a second.

"Your friends are not with you. You went and got yourself utterly drunk yesterday. You overdosed on... LSD last night. And last, but certainly not least, you jumped off a bloody building and almost flattened me against the street. Definitely signs of an ousting." Although the words were cutting, the amused smile dulled the edge.

"Okay, so I've been ousted. I used to be the leader of the whole sodding... gang... organization... thing."

"You don't even have a name for your little group?" the boy snorted uncivilly.

"We're just a bunch of homeless orphans who steal for a living. Why in the world would we need a name?"

"Well, before, you were part of the organization so you didn't need a name for it. Now, however, you aren't anymore. Therefore, you need a name or something when you refer to them."

"Oh bloody hell!" Jamison exclaimed. "Fine, I'll give them a name. They are now officially the London sodding Street Brats! Happy?!"

"Immensely," the boy quipped dryly. "Now, all you need is an attitude adjustment and a life and you'll do just fine. Or as fine as anyone else."

"ME?! _I'M_ the one who needs an attitude adjustment? Who're you talking to, squirt? I'm an adult. I can bloody well mope around and overdose on drugs if I want. You're the one who's butting into this sodding loser's life, okay?!"

"Hmm.." The boy looked contemplative for a few seconds before golden orbs flashed with something Jamison could not distinguish. "I'll help you get your feet back beneath you. I have nothing to do and god knows you need the help."

"What?" squawked Jamison.

"Good. It's decided then."

--

It was practically fate, Harry mused, that she had met a nearly dead and severely drugged Jamison Smith that night in the alley. That alley seemed like the place where all the strangest things happened to her. First an almost-rape, then recruitment to become an assassin, and finally an encounter with an ousted leader. Really, strange things happened in that alley.

Currently, the two were in Switzerland of all places, having spent the last of Jamison's stolen pounds on a ship to France. They had walked and the rest of the way, stealing what they needed as they passed through cities, towns, and countryside. This Sabre North person, Jamison had found, was uncannily skilled at pickpocketing, even better than himself if he had to admit it. It was almost scary how the tiny boy's hands would flash for a fraction of a second while on a busy street in a French city and the next moment there would be a wallet in not his hands, but his pockets. He didn't even slow down as he walked past the victim and if Jamison hadn't had exceptionally sharp eyes, he wouldn't even have noticed Sabre move.

"So, why exactly are we here?" Jamison asked as he stuck his hands in his dirty jean pockets. None of them had bothered to change or bathe for the past couple of days and they had only done so once on the trip at Harry's urging. After all, if they became unpresentable to society, they would become more than a little suspicious not to mention noticeable.

Not that they were easily overlooked in any case. The two were eyecatching, especially side by side; short, adorable Sabre North next to tall and charming Jamison Smith.

"It should be around five hundred miles from here, in those mountains. I'm fairly certain there's a diamond mine somewhere." Sabre stared at the mountains in the distance.

Jamison sighed. Two weeks with the kid and he had yet to figure out if the child was some kind of superhuman or just plain insane. "And how will that help us? Stealing diamonds is harder than pickpocketing."

"Why?" Harry cocked her head to the side while she gazed curiously at her companion.

"Because we won't even be authorized to _be_ there. We'd have to sneak in."

"Well, there won't be a problem then because this mine hasn't been discovered yet so there'll be no one there. So, no worries."

Jamison came to a sudden stop and whirled to face Harry. "You know the location of an as of yet undiscovered diamond mine?!"

"Mhm." Harry nodded slowly. "It's only speculation though. We're going to check if it's really there. Then we'll take a few samples and ask a specialist to take a look at it. And if that goes through, we'll sell the samples and buy the mountains. We can open a mine."

Jamison goggled incredulously for a few more seconds before motioning to the empty suitcase he was lugging. "Is that why we bought this?"

"Mhm."

"How the hell do you know about an undiscovered mine anyways?"

"Hm... I saw a map once and I suddenly remembered it."

It had, in fact, been on one of her missions. She was instructed to steal documents concerning the details of a certain company's finance, where the money came from and went. It had been one of the more difficult missions and security had been more than tight. Predictably, though, the documents were stashed in the CEO's office along with all the other important files. Among those important files had been a map full of red dots estimating where unfound mines could possibly be. Since she was stealing the financial papers anyways, she took the map as well. Then after she had returned to the assassin base, she handed the financial papers in and kept the map.

The map was, at the moment, a pile of ashes in her room... or her former room in the... actually, she didn't even know what it was called. She doubted it even had a name. After all, no one referred to it at all and no one besides the assassins who lived there would know about its existance.

Well, in any case, she had decided to burn it in a bout of anger when she had convinced herself that she would not ever leave the place. It had become a symbol of what she never would have: a future in the world. She knew she would never be able to work up the nerve because the fact of the matter was, she wasn't particularly brave. Or particularly anything spectacular. She had just been a child, lost with seemingly only a single road ahead of her that disappeared into darkness. But that was all before she was forced into motion by her change in appearance.

However, even though the map was physically gone, Harry still recalled every line and every dot on that map although she hadn't thought about it until she had taken up the task to put Jamison's life back together.

"How can you be sure that there is a mine there? You've never even been here before!" Jamison exclaimed.

"I guess I just have a feeling. If we're wrong, we can always go back to London." Harry smiled innocently.

It took all the willpower Jamison possessed to refrain from smashing his head against the nearest surface. However, that didn't stop him from dramatically rolling his eyes. "So then we'd have spent almost two weeks coming here for nothing?"

"Not for nothing. We would then know that there isn't a diamond mine in those mountains." Harry smiled winningly.

"Wonderful. Let's just get on with it, shall we?"

--

As it turned out, there was a diamond mine in the mountains. Harry guessed that at some point in time, the mountains had been volcanoes and if that was true, the period had long passed.

The trip back to Britain was much like the one to Switzerland with the stealing and pickpocketing, but with much more precautions. They had continued on to a few more towns before doubling back and returning on a parallel path. It was just in case someone would decide to track their progress. "Paranoid as hell," Jamison had noted. "Slightly wary," Harry had admitted.

Before long, the diamonds had been sold with the help of a dependable broker Harry had learned of from piecing together various bits of information she gleaned from her assassination assignments. Robert E. Grams was his name. He was, apparently, reknowned for his lack of curiosity about the merchandise his clients sold and that was most definitely a good thing.

The next step was the tricky part. They had to purchase the land upon which the mountains sat from Martha B. Steward, an elderly widow who did nothing but spend copious amounts of time inside her mansion, painting and 'making art'. This was Jamison's first opportunity of practicing his inborn charm. Harry played the role of Jamison's little brother. The two had 'been recently orphaned' and 'little Shaun (Harry)' had fallen in love with the mountains at first sight. Jamison, as the indulgent elder brother had been 'hard-pressed not to purchase the one place little Shaun felt comfortable in after the horrific accident that killed their relatively rich parents.'

The elderly woman was thoroughly fooled and at some point, Harry had her firmly wrapped around her little finger. The land was sold at half its true value and new ownership was written down for joint ownership between Jamison Smith and Sabre North. Jamison had even felt a little guilty about the whole thing.

As soon as the deed was theirs, everything was much easier. They borrowed money and bought the equipment necessary for open pit mining and several hundred workers were hired. To prevent theft, a multitude of video cameras were also installed. And thus began the Smith Diamond Mining Project.

When the mining began to speed up, they started their own jewel cutting business. All this occurred within seven months.

By Christmas, Harry was already devising plans to enter the British food industry. The money was all flowing very well and income far outweighed expenses. Things were going smoothly.

Two days after Christmas, Harry decided it was time.

--

Jamison sat on the settee next to the window and watched blankly as the snowflakes fell outside. Sometime in the mess of the past seven months, Jamison had purchased a small building in London. The downstairs was turned into a sweets shop while Harry and Jamison lived in upper level. It was quite quaint, five bedrooms and three bathrooms with a small living room and a large kitchen.

This had been, of course, at the suggestion of that little brat, Sabre North. He didn't know how or why, but Sabre North, though cheeky like no other, was a complete genius when it came to the financial world. Jamison knew that the biggest factor in their current success was the clever mind of the nine year old boy.

Really, he would have never guessed that this was what it would come to when he had first met the brown haired boy. It was really a giant leap of faith when he had decided to believe in the child and... dare he say, follow him? Of course, desperation and devastation had been huge factors in that unlikely choice. And it was the right choice, it really was.

Although the boy's mien was often sarcastic and filled with annoying remarks that had a habit of hitting the nail on the head, it was oddly endearing. It was... strangely enough, like he had gained an elder sibling; someone who would take care of him and pull him from the depths of

despair should he ever fall. Except, the child was most definitely younger than him. How old was he anyways? Seven? Eight? Nine? No wonder the lady from the mansion had been fooled. Sabre's innocent act had been so geniuine that he still wondered even now if it had really been an act.

If it wasn't, then Sabre North was honestly the best actor he had ever seen. And that was, actually, just a bit scary.

In fact, now that he thought about it, he knew practically nothing about the boy.

"Hey, Jamie."

The voice that shook Jamison from his thoughts was smooth and fluid like water. He turned from the window to look into golden orbs. Then, involuntarily, his lips curved up into a smile.

"Is it my turn to man the shop?" Jamison checked the clock above the television. It was six o clock in the evening.

"Nope," Sabre chirped with a disarming smile. "I've already closed the shop for today."

Oh. He had forgotten the shop closed at six on Mondays through Thursdays.

"Mm," Jamison hummed noncommittally. "I really don't understand why you're opening a shop down there. And a sweets shop at that. Is the jewelry industry not enough for our little boy?"

Sabre simpered and twirled around almost like a girl. "Don't you adore kids?" he asked, gold eyes innocently wide.

"Not particularly. As of now, I only know one kid and he's much more than enough for me."

"Well then," Sabre drawled as he walked towards the settee, "Consider me pining for playmates. All I have around me are old men. Or rather, _an_ old man. I really don't know which is worse."

"Ha!" exclaimed Jamison. "Wait until you become my age. Even then the majority of the world will be older than you."

"Of course," Sabre conceded, "It's all really just a comparison. However, comparatively, you're pretty old. And hey, guess what? You always will be." Small pink lips upturned into a teasing smirk.

"On the other hand," Jamison noted, "You will forever be a twerp. Even trade, huh?"

"Mm," Sabre hummed noncommittally. "You know, I've been wanting to ask." The petite child swooped onto Jamison's lap in one smooth motion, graceful in its simplicity. "Are." Thin cotton covered arms looped around Jamison's neck. "You." Small lips closed the distance to Jamison's right ear. "Willing to adopt me?"

The last part was said so soft it was barely a whisper, but Jamison heard. He tensed all of a sudden. "Adopt you?" he asked incredulously wondering just what in seven hells was going on in that clever little head beside him.

"Yeah, adopt me," Sabre said, drawing back. "Are you willing to be my legal guardian?"

"..." Jamison could only make a strange noise in his throat as he stared wide-eyed at the person he had just minutes earlier admitted to seeing as an elder sibling.

"You can say 'no,' you know," Sabre remarked with an amused smile.

"Uh."

"Is that a yes 'uh' or a no 'uh'?" The teasing was merciless. And in such a serious moment too.

"Mm. _Why_ would you want me to adopt you?" Jamison finally managed. "Don't tell me I resemble your father or some shit like that."

Sabre's smile finally turned genuine. "Simple. I need legal status. You're an adult with a relatively... good income. It wouldn't do for someone to just pick me up and stick me in an orphanage."

"So," Jamison inquired, "You just want the legal status. No other purpose to this?"

"Of course not. You're not exactly father material, you know?"

"Mm. Okay, I guess. I'll adopt you as long as you promise not to call me father."

"Thank you."

"Mm. The forms?"

"I'll go get them."

Five minutes later, the forms were all signed and ready to be submitted. A lawyer to help with the technicalities was only a phone call away.

"Stop burying your face in the cushion," Sabre ordered from the doorway. "I know you understand the amount of power you've just been given over me. And I know you're smirking."

"Oh really?" came the muffled response.

"Yes, really."

"Do you want to retract the adoption? It's not too late yet. We haven't given it to the lawyer yet." The voice was still muffled.

"Of course not. I've decided to do this and I'm going to do it. There isn't a better person to adopt me. I trust you. And we both know that I'm not searching for a parental figure."

"You know," drawled the muffled voice, "That's kinda sad. The giving up on a parental figure part."

"No it's not," Sabre snorted. "It's just like how you're never going to be married. I'm never going to have a father or a mother. That's just the way the world works."

"Hey, I resent that."

--

On new years, Harry decided it was time to expand. Or rather, it was time to lure the London Street Brats in now that they had bait.

"Hurry up, Jamie." It was three o clock in the afternoon already.

Jamison Smith hopped on one foot as he tugged on the heel of his left sneaker. "What's the rush?"

"Nothing really. I'm just feeling the adrenaline." Sabre hopped from the left foot to the right in a futile attempt to release some of the pent up energy.

"Adrenaline?" Jamison asked with a raised brow as he locked the shop. "Are we doing something stupid today?"

His only response was a cocky grin and an "Of course" before he was pulled into a quick jog.

Before he knew it, they were at the alley they had met for the first time.

"And why are we here?" asked Jamison as he glanced distastefully around. He had been thoroughly drunk with an arguable concussion the last time he had been there. It was much filthier now that he had the chance to look around.

"Show me to your London Street Brats."

"Excuse me?" Jamison didn't even have the heart to be surprised anymore. Random suggestions like this came all the time from Sabre.

"Show me your headquarters. How do we get there?"

Jamison sighed. "Follow me."

--

It was an another empty alley, although much cleaner than the usual ones that littered the city.

"Here?" Sabre asked, toeing the sewer entrance.

"Yes, here."

"Okay then."

Sabre lifted the metal cover and scrunched her nose. Then, she climbed... down.

When Jamison reached the bottom, he immediately spun to the left, knowing that there would be 'guards' there to attack intruders as soon as they entered. And if the little brat had been knocked out... well, that ought to teach him a lesson.

What he saw, though, was nothing like he expected.

Madison and Carter, sure enough the guards, were there, arms up and poised to attack with lead pipes, but they were frozen halfway through the motion.

"So," he drawled, "Is that position supposed to be comfortable?"

"Jamie, where to next?"

He turned around to see Sabre frowning impatiently.

"This way," he sighed as he walked towards the boy. "What do you think happened to Madison and Carter?"

"Oh, I think they're frozen."

Jamison rolled his eyes at the obvious statement. "Either way, we were lucky. We could've been knocked out if it weren't for this freak... thing. They're pretty fast, you know. And they hit first and talk later."

The younger boy hummed noncommittally.

They continued for a few minutes down the dark sewer paths. Jamison appraised his 'son' from the corner of his eye.

"You're being awfully quiet today," he commented.

"We're in enemy territory," Sabre said by way of explanation.

There were no more words after that.

--

The walk to the center of headquarters took ten minutes. Harry was impressed with the extensive network; the curves, the corners, and the sometimes twisted paths. She had memorized the way as she walked, but she was fairly certain that there was much more to the system than what they traversed.

The leader of the London Street Brats, as it turned out, was a tall lanky boy no more than fifteen. He was sitting cross-legged upon a large crate, playing a game of chess against himself, when Harry arrived with Jamie.

Quickly, with silent footsteps, Harry strode to the crate and settled herself upon the opposite end of the crate with a single fluid motion. "May I join you?" she asked politely.

To his credit, the boy only blinked as he looked up. "I don't think I've seen you around," he said. "Do I know you?"

Harry grinned. "Sabre North. Now you do."

She moved a rook five spaces down.

"I'm Anthony Goldstein."

He moved his queen three spaces diagonally.

"You're the boss here?"

She moved a bishop one space back, diagonally.

"I am."

He moved his rook to capture a pawn.

"What do you call this group you have running here?"

She moved her pawn to take his rook.

"We have no name."

He moved his bishop to remove her last knight.

"Then how about calling it 'The London Street Brats'? I think it's a very nice name."

She used her queen to kill off the bishop and avenge her knight.

"Are you joking?"

He removed her queen with his pawn.

"No. I'm not."

She moved her rook one space to the right and looked up into his dark eyes. "Checkmate," she grinned.

The boy threw his head back in laughter. "So it is."

"Jamie." Harry took this chance to call her 'father' to her side. "Did you know Anthony?"

"Actually," mused Jamie. "I did."

"You don't look surprised," said Anthony.

"Don't worry, I am." Jamie smiled, his amusement clear from his body language and the faint sparkle in his eyes. "You are definitely the last person I would have suspected to have overthrown me."

Anthony snorted before deliberately appraising his former leader from head to toe. "I see that I've thrown you to a better fate. Much better."

"It's fine enough. How did you figure that?"

"Your clothes." Anthony reached out to rub the cloth of a sleeve between his pointer finger and thumb. "The quality is very good yet understated. You've become rich."

Instead of the jealousy that Harry had expected, Anthony's eyes only sparkled with amusement and slight curiosity.

"Oh?" she interrupted. "And why is Anthony the last person you would have expected to have dethroned you?" she asked Jamie.

Jamie chuckled at that. "He was, shall I say, something like the secretary of our group. Quiet, unobtrusive, but apparently amazingly clever. A veritable wolf in sheep's clothing."

Harry smiled.

"Why don't I sense any antagonism?" she asked lightly.

"It was never anything personal. I never disliked '_Jamie_' at all. He was just too easy to topple. It was... much too tempting." Anthony grinned widely at Jamison.

"I see," Harry remarked, before flicking her eyes to Jamie.

"What about you?" Anthony asked Jamie. "I would've expected you to burst into screams the moment you saw me. Or at least, that's what I would have expected eight months ago. You've changed."

"You're right. I have changed. I don't know why, but I'm a lot calmer now." Jamie's tone was easy and light.

"And a lot less arrogant, if you can believe that," added Anthony. "Who knew, all you needed to lose your conceit was to fall from your throne."

Jamie grinned. "I'm in a much better place. And no, I'm not talking about heaven."

"Heaven," Anthony chortled. "I'd say you fell into a diamond mine."

Harry winked at Jamie as she slid her fingertips across her lips motioning for discretion on the subject of their diamond mine.

Nevertheless, Jamie was not able to hold back a laugh. "I'll admit, I'm a much richer man than when I left."

"Yes, then why did you come back?" Anthony asked.

Before Jamie could reply, a loud feminine voice echoed through the room as another entrance slid open. "JAMES!"

A brown blur sped into Jamie's arms and choked him into a strangling hug. "Where _were_ you?!" the woman asked from his chest.

"Samantha?" Jamie asked as he looked up to see two more familiar faces standing at the entrance. "Jake? Marcus?"

A brief memory of her first meeting with Jamie and his friends flashed through Harry's mind. Samantha Carter, now eighteen, wrapped in Jamie's arms. Jacob Sheldon, blond haired, blue eyed, and fifteen at the time of the first meeting, was now nineteen... probably. Marcus Neelan with dirty blond hair was even taller than in her memory, likely twenty one already. There was only one person left of their little group... where was he?

"Hey," greeted Jacob with a warm smile. "Long time no see, bro."

Marcus's welcome back was completely different. He stalked up to Jamie with an angry face and abruptly punched him in the face.

Samantha, still hugging Jamie, released him because of the impact and hopped around madly in a desperate campaign to regain balance.

"Marcus, man, what was that for?" Jamie demanded, sounding not mad at all.

"You just disappeared for eight months!" Marcus raged. "What did you think that was for? Do you know how worried we were? Do you know how irritable Jake was? Do you know how teary Samantha was? Do you know how quiet Shoutarou was? NO! Of course you don't know because you _WEREN'T_ there!"

"I'm sorry, Marcus." Jamie's voice was quiet and he seemed to really mean his apology.

"You don't need to apologize."

The voice came from the other entrance to the room, the entrance Harry and Jamie had come in through. Standing there with two guys in tow behind him was Shoutarou Shinomori. Fourteen years old now, Harry estimated. Shoutarou dropped the two lumps from his shoulder onto the floor and Harry saw that they were Madison and Carter, the door/entrance guards. Oops.

Shoutarou's slanted black eyes immediately zipped to Harry and narrowed in suspicion. Eyes still much too observant for her liking.

"Who's he? I think I've met him before somewhere." His eyes narrowed further, this time in thought.

"If you can't think of it, then you haven't met him before. You remember everyone you've met before." Jacob's voice cut through the tense silence that had followed the dropping of Madison and Carter.

"Shoutarou," Jamie nodded in greeting, a small smile on his lips.

"James," Shoutarou nodded back as he seemed to stop trying to recall Harry. He was much too sharp if he could feel that Harry was familiar after only meeting her for a few minutes three years ago. He must recall people according to mien and gait as well as looks if he found Harry anything similar to before her training with the underground assassins.

"And why shouldn't James apologize?" Marcus cut in, voice still angry.

"Because," Shoutarou said, looking straight at Anthony, "Anthony here kicked him out and if I'm not mistaken, ordered the guards against letting him back in."

Anthony raised his hands in mock surrender. "You've caught me."

"You?!" exclaimed Samantha and Marcus.

"I suspected as much," nodded Jacob.

"How dare you?!" raged Samantha. "James is the leader!"

"Was," reminded Shoutarou. "It was a hundred percent alright, what Anthony did. This is how our hierarchy works."

"But--" exclaimed Samantha.

"It was clever how you sent us four on various missions that happened to be appropriate for us," Shoutarou interrupted as he spoke to Anthony. "I didn't even suspect a thing until James didn't appear for five days straight. Even his little field trips never last that long."

"Then why didn't you search for me?" asked Jamie, not at all accusatory but rather curious.

"I did, on the sixth day. The nightclubs all said you didn't return after the fourth day. Someone even said you bought LSD." Shoutarou gave Jamie a reproaching look.

"Heh heh," Jamie laughed nervously. "Oh right. I crashed on the fourth night."

"His habits gave me all the weapon needed to destroy him," Anthony grinned. "I gave him seven days, tops, before dying from alcohol poisoning."

"Wrong," quipped Harry and all eyes shot to her as if they only just remembered her to be in the room. To be fair, they probably did after their little reunion. "He almost died from jumping off a roof. He would have frozen before dying from alcohol poisoning... and drug overdose."

"Drug overdose?!" Samantha screamed. "James, you overdosed on DRUGS?!"

"Well," said James, "I was devastated, you know. No purpose in life and all. I didn't know you guys were sent on missions. I thought you guys kind of just didn't want me anymore."

Samantha jumped and wrapped herself around Jamie. "You know we would never abandon you," she sobbed and although she was the most melodramatic of the quartet, the nods from the boys confirmed the sentiment.

"On that note, how about a proposal?" Harry quipped, cutting the moment short. It was a bit nauseating, really.

"What?" Samantha asked, eyes wide, "I am not going to ask James to marry me."

Everyone stared at her for a moment and burst out into laughter.

"No," Harry said, amused, "I'm the one with the proposal."

"You're going to ask James to marry you? I'm sorry, but he's not into guys, especially little boys."

Harry's lips twisted into a grin. "Of course not. I'm sorry I could ever think that. However, this particular proposal is for... you guys, the London Street Brats."

"London Street Brats?" Jacob asked with a quirk of his lips.

"Yes, Jamie's name for your group. Word on the street's you have over three thousand members."

"Ha! That's just what James says to recruit. We actually only have about five hundred members top."

"Four hundred and eighty four if no one has gone or joined in the time of my absence," added Jamie.

Harry smiled. She had thought as much. No matter how big the sewage system was, she didn't think it could fit that many people. "Well, if you are willing to vote Jamie back on as your official leader, he's willing to lead the London Street Brats into... money."

"Oh?" Anthony asked, intrigued.

"Yes, you see how Jamie is much better off now that before."

"Indeed."

"I fully agree," said Samantha.

"No objection," said Jacob.

"It's nice to have you back," said Marcus.

"It's an interesting idea," admitted Shoutarou.

"So, that's settled then," grinned Harry.

"By the way," said Samantha, "What happened to Madison and Carter?"

"That's what I was trying to figure out," said Shoutarou. "It's strange. I've never seen this before, although I suspect that they may have had their pressure points hit." He pinned his eyes on Harry.

Harry raised empty hands in surrender.

Madison and Carter stirred on the floor. Then, slowly, they stood up. "You!" they exclaimed as they saw Harry.

"Hi," Harry waved.

"So I was right," sighed Shoutarou. "That is one difficult kid you've recruited, James."

"Mm," James hummed noncommittally.

--

Three weeks later, Harry put the finishing touches on her plan which included a set of private schools, elementary through college, a set of all the buildings they would buy for headquarters or living quarters for the London Street Brats, and safe financial advancements in their business.

She stood up and stretched out the kinks in her back. She was much too young for this, seriously.

Harry looked to the bed and saw that Jamie was already snoozing. He was used to her late nights by now.

Ever since the London Street Brats had joined them, Anthony, Marcus, and Jacob took over her old room. Samantha and Shoutarou slept in the last bedroom, not because they were a couple, but because they had firm brother and sister feelings for each other and neither felt threatened or disturbed by the other's presence.

As for Harry, she was left to stay with Jamie since they had found out that she was legally Jamie's 'son.'

Harry slipped into her assassin suit sans gun and mask. She opened the window and jumped after shutting it again. Softly, she fell past the first level and landed on her feet. It was time for a nightly run. There was nothing like running in the night air to relieve tension. Just because it was the dark of night didn't mean she didn't have to be careful. No, there was one time where she had seen a fellow assassin and barely hid in time. The coincidences would be rare, but she had to be on alert.

She also couldn't run on the roofs. It would make her too much of a visible target against the moonlight.

All was well that night.

Or at least that's what she thought until she caught an owl tailing her. Oh come on...

She increased her speed and sped around several corners into the more shady section of London. Still, the owl followed behind her. This was beyond odd.

To her utter horror, the stupid owl followed her no matter where she went. As she sprinted from street to street, alleyway to alleyway, it chased her like a bloody missile.

Finally, as she realized she had circled back to their sweets shop, she slowed and let the owl catch her. It was then that she saw the owl was carrying a letter strapped to its leg. It glared at her for a moment as if accusing her of making its job infinitely harder before offering its leg up. Harry cautiously removed the letter and instinctively scanned it for any sign of poison or explosives.

When she found none, she looked at the envelope and read under a dim lamp light, "To Mr. Sabre North / The Room Above the Northern Sweets Shoppe." She removed its contents and saw: "

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. North,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September (or when you happen to register). We await your owl after registration. "

Attached, Harry found: "

List of Necessary Books and Equipment

Uniform

First year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please not that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

Set Books

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

Other Equipment

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring and owl, cat or toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS"

Harry smiled. At least, it had not come addressed to Mr. Harry Potter. That was good enough for her. And magic... well, if the wizarding world was inviting her back, who was she to disagree? After all, the wizarding world must be a thousand times more fun than the muggle world.

She scaled the wall and found footing at the foot of the bedroom window. She crept in and locked the window after her. Afterwards, it was simply a matter of locating a pen and a paper and replying in the affirmative.

As she sent out the owl with her response, she smiled in anticipation. It was going to be so much fun.

--

Two days later, Harry casually informed everyone at the breakfast table that she would be going to a boarding school come September. They had eggs and bacon that morning as Harry had felt like eggs and bacon that day. It was the one big advantage to cooking, getting to choose the contents of the meal. That was, of course, besides the fact that cooking was quite enjoyable.

"Boarding school?" Jamie asked, head snapping up.

"Yes. I'm going to a boarding school come September. I've already sent the reply."

"You -- " He cut off, not knowing what to say.

"I'll miss you, Jamie," Harry smiled and found to her surprise that it was the truth. She would miss him, if only a little. "Besides, it's still eight months away."

Jamie looked at her from the corner of his eye. He looked faintly hurt, but he hid it well and the emotion only showed in his stormy gray eyes. He needn't have worried.

To tell the truth, this was one of the biggest reasons why she had Jamie adopt her. This way, he wouldn't be able to reasonably fear that she would replace him as her 'partner' so to speak. It was a security blanket for him.

Jamie was, in fact, important to her, though not in a way anyone would guess. She did not love him. She didn't even particularly adore him. He was certainly not her adult figure or role model in life either. No, what he was was far more important, at least to her. He was the cornerstone to her plans in her game of scaling the cliff that was life. At least for now.

Now, all that remained to be seen was what changes _Hogwarts_ would bring.

A/N: Just so you guys know, the whole diamond mine thing and Switzerland is completely made up. If anyone finds some information that it is scientifically impossible for the land of Switzerland to produce diamonds because there aren't volcanoes or any way high pressured compression can occur or something like that, well, I'm stating right now that that's because this story is basically 100 fiction.

If you want information on how diamond mining works, you can go to /exhibitions/diamonds/mining.html .


	6. World of Magic

( 7/05/08 ) Someone just told me that Harry has already told Jamie the name of Hogwarts in the previous chapter. All I can really say is 'Oops.' And also, thanks, anonymous person who told me.

A/N: Someone asked why Dumbledore allowed Harry to live with him for the first four to five years before dumping her off at Petunia's. I guess I was a bit too vague on writing that part so it was probably a bit difficult to come to the right conclusions. So here's the explanation. Dumbledore has been hoping that Harry has magic after all because he knows that Harry is the one who vanquished Voldemort what with Neville's parents being attacked by the Lestranges.

Unfortunately, a squib is not going to help Dumbledore kill Voldemort once and for all and after a final testing before he sent her away, Dumbledore figures out that Harry is just not magical so there's no point in keeping her there any longer. He pretty much decided to give up on her. Which comes to the reason why Neville is pronounced the Boy-Who-Lived. Dumbledore thinks that Neville will fit the prophecy much better than Harry and since he at least has some magical power... they'll have at least some chance.

6/24/08 ( Still the A/N )

Okay, I know I haven't updated in over two months. There were SATs, final exams, and then finally I guess I just didn't want to get back to writing. However, I _have_ been reading fanfictions these past few weeks. And I have got to say, The Prince by NeverendingOdyssey has got to be one of the best fanfictions I have ever read. It's a Death Note fic and the plot is just so un-freaking-believable, intricate and convoluted.

By the way, if anyone knows of any other anime or manga that is similar to Death Note, Liar Game, Akagi, Kaiji, or any of those extremely psychological manga/animes, it would be nice if you could mention it to me.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Summary: AU. Harry's born a girl but registered as a boy. Neville's the BoyWhoLived. Voldemort's still out to off Harry and return. And oh yeah, there're actually several more organizations involved in this war than anyone would have guessed. It's one deadly game.

**A Deadly Game**

**Five: **

"Will you call?"

"No."

"Then will you write?"

"Perhaps."

"Will you come home for Christmas?"

"..."

Harry was standing just inside the front door to the Northern Sweets Shoppe, a small compact suitcase sitting unobtrusively between her and the door. It was finally time to leave for Hogwarts and although she had finalized her plans for the London Street Brats and stored them in Jamie's secure hands, she was still a bit apprehensive about leaving her most recent project.

On another note, the cornerstone to her plans, her adoptive 'father', was being obnoxiously motherly.

"Sabre, you must come back for Christmas. The neighbors will be suspicious if you don't."

Speaking of which, said father was currently grasping at straws in order to cling to her. It seemed the male had become dependent upon her and while that wasn't such a bad thing if she was to keep a tight control over their proceedings with the London Street Brats, it wasn't necessarily a very good thing either. Or pleasant. She really didn't do gushy family material very well, although at some point in the past, she probably would have been able to slip into the role easily enough.

"Don't be obtuse," Harry scolded. "The neighbors would only assume that I have gone to boarding school... which I have."

"Well then, at least tell me the name of the boarding school if you won't tell me its location."

"If I told you the name, you would probably be able to find its location." It wasn't exactly true since Hogwarts was hidden in the wizarding world, but telling him she was going to a school named Hogwarts was actually... kind of embarrassing. Like seriously, blemishes of a pig? Not the classiest name, that was for sure.

"Sabre... I am your fa--"

"Don't even finish that sentence," Harry cut in. "If you are going to use our connection like so, I will disappear and you will never see me again." Something in the light of Harry's eyes told Jamie that it wasn't a lie.

Jamie sighed heavily. "Very well."

He seemed to have reigned his emotions in. "At the very least, consider coming home for Christmas."

Harry nodded, both in acquiescence and approval. "Of course. I shall consider it."

Jamie gave her one last look before plowing forward to squeeze her tight. "Promise you'll come back," he whispered.

"Of course I will," Harry said, allowing a brief genuine smile to flicker across her lips.

**A few weeks earlier...**

Harry stood curiously outside the Leaky Cauldron as she fingered the slip of paper she had gotten from another owl. The paper stated only "Charing Cross Road - supplies" and "King's Cross ( Platform 9 3/4 ) - train." It was handwritten and scrawled in strict, concise writing. She mused that the person who had written it was likely a very taciturn and somber person.

However, all she had to go on was that she was supposed to find Charing Cross Road and somehow find a way into the wizarding world where she would promptly find some way of purchasing her school supplies and that on September 1st, she would have to go to King's Cross station and find this Platform 9 3/4 that she was sure didn't exist, at least according to the "muggle" eye.

If she concentrated just enough, Harry could see the scarlet tendrils of what must have been magic weave around the shabby looking restaurant slash bar. This must be the place.

More guarded than usual, Harry cautiously stepped into the Leaky Cauldron and swept the room once with a casual glance, silently taking in every detail. Plenty of people were milling around, drinking quietly in some corners, talking passively at various tables. The one thing she immediately noticed was that they all wore... for lack of a better word, dresses. Or at least, they looked awfully similar to dresses which was almost disturbing since she was certain at least one of the occupants was male. Wizarding culture much?

At the moment, Harry had to question herself as to the wisdom of actually going to Hogwarts. She doubted that she really needed the magical training from the magical school. She had honestly mastered all that she really wished to shortly after her transformation, drawing upon the library of information she had acquired in Dumbledore's hidden library. Really, the only reason she was doing this was to up the ante to the game. Spreading her roots, one could say, into the magical world as well.

Right, that was why she was enduring a whole new culture. Even though she had read about the wizarding world, conventional knowledge had most definitely not been among the books she had absorbed. It was time to add the meat to her skeleton.

Slowly, Harry stalked up to the barman.

"Excuse me, Sir?" Harry affected a childish and friendly smile that made her golden eyes curve into half moons.

The barman turned to look at her with an affable expression. "Hello, and you are?"

"Sabre North, Sir. If I may ask, how should I address you, Sir?"

The barman shook his head. "Please do not call me Sir. I'm Tom. Just Tom."

"Very well, Tom. I was just wondering where I could buy my school supplies? I've just received my Hogwarts letter and to be honest, I've never really been around the wizarding world before." Which wasn't really a lie since the only place she had ever stayed in the wizarding world was the chamber beneath Dumbledore's office.

"Ah," Tom smiled sympathetically. "Muggleborn."

Harry hummed noncommittally.

"If you'll come with me, I'll show you."

Tom walked off towards the rear and led Harry into a chilly little courtyard where they abruptly stopped at a... wall.

Staring just a bit more intently at the wall, Harry found that thin purple strands threaded through a couple of bricks in the wall.

Tom, happily humming a strange tune, tapped a specific brick three up and two across three times and the wall melted away until all Harry could see was a busy street full of people in... dresses and strange hats. She quickly committed the position of the brick tapped to her memory before observing the strange environment some more.

"This here's Diagon Alley," Tom informed Harry. "You'll be able to find all the school supplies you'll need from here. Since you're a muggleborn, I think you should visit the Gringotts Bank first to convert muggle money into wizarding currency."

"Thank you," said Harry in a sincere tone of voice and watched as Tom returned to the Leaky Cauldron. The portal between courtyard and busy street faded out of existence soon after.

As she walked leisurely down the street, a snowy white building marked 'Gringotts Bank' came into view. Harry smiled as she suddenly recalled information from years past pertaining to the bank. It was run and employed almost entirely by goblins, odd little creatures with an unhealthy obsession with money. Goblins were also described to be possessive and high suspicious of humans. There really hadn't been much else on Gringotts except for its magical history and the goblins' relations to wizards.

After passing the first door, the second door, a silver one, had something engraved upon it.

Harry stared at it curiously and read:

"_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn,_

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._"

There was something... unique about this engraving. As Harry concentrated more upon the door, strong silver tendrils appeared, going almost unseen as it camouflaged against the door. Magic, on a door? She stared a bit harder, and gasped as suddenly, she just simply _knew_ that the spell on the engraved words was to place a subtle tracking charm upon the visitor until he or she left the premises. Reading it apparently only enforced it.

Harry allowed herself a small smile at the ingenuity of such an idea and promptly stepped into the building, drawing out a roll of bills from her pocket as she did so.

Inside, it was actually empty, which was slightly surprising. The bank didn't seem closed.

A goblin approached her, a permanent grimace etched on his face.

"I am Griphook. How may I help you?" the goblin asked, tone surly.

"I'm Sabre North. I would like to exchange British pounds for wizarding money."

"Very well. Follow me."

Griphook led Harry to a counter and walked around to the other side. Harry quickly handed him her money when he held out his hand and in no time at all, the goblin had counted out the appropriate amount of galleons. "This is four hundred galleons as you gave me exactly two thousand pounds."

"Thank you."

Griphook nodded taciturnly and stared at Harry with eyes that would have made a normal person back away slowly.

But Harry was no ordinary person so she just stood there and opened her mouth to ask the question on her mind. "Mr. Griphook, I understand that you have personal vaults. I was just wondering, how may one access one's vault?"

Griphook's unnerving stare continued to scrutinize Harry for a few seconds more before he replied, "There are little golden keys that we distribute for each vault owner. This is limited to one per vault as they have special enchantments on them and are difficult to produce."

"What if one loses one's key?" Harry asked curiously.

"Then the person may come to us and one of the spells on the key will enable us to help you to instantly teleport your key to you."

"Ah. Thank you, Mr. Griphook. I hope to see you another day."

Harry left, musing over her thoughts.

Her parents had been Lily and James Potter. Although she wasn't too sure about Lily's financial condition, she was fairly certain that the Potters were fairly well off. In fact, she was almost one hundred percent sure that there was a vault piled with money in his name somewhere in that bank. However, the key was god-knows-where, but most likely with Dumbledore.

If she called on the instant teleportation spell to retrieve her spell, it would likely alert Dumbledore to the fact that Harry Potter was alive and in the wizarding world. On the other hand, who knows what Dumbledore could be spending her money on, or if he even touched it in the first place. She honestly didn't know the man very well and that annoyed her. Dumbledore was apparently, a very important and influential person.

In the end, she came to the conclusion that she would wait until she got to Hogwarts and evaluated the old man before making a decision as to what to do about the vault and its key.

Harry spotted Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions a couple of meters away and decided that robes were as good as any place to start.

The store was pristine white and the woman in charge of the store seemed to be busy with another customer so she took the opportunity to look around.

The place wasn't all that large, but stacks of clothing and cloth were strewn all over the place. It was an orderly piece of chaos.

"Oh, dear!" Harry heard and she turned to face the only two other human beings in the room. The only other living organism in the room was in the form of a plant sitting in the corner of the shop, fern.

"Hello, Ma'am," Harry smiled. "I'm here for three sets of plain black work robes, one plain black pointed hat, one pair of dragon hide gloves, and one winter cloak, black with silver fastenings."

"Goodness," drawled another voice, a boy child's voice. "Did you memorize the entire Hogwarts letter or is it just the section?"

Harry shifted her gaze to the small figure standing upon a slightly raised dais used for fitting robes. The boy was turned away from her, but she could clearly see his white blond hair and confident stance. Arrogance and aristocracy simply oozed from the figure and Harry guessed that the child was most definitely a pureblood and filthy rich.

"Just the section," Harry replied, voice light and tinged with the slightest bit of amusement. "I'm afraid I shall have to peek at the list as I walk into Flourish and Blotts." She added just a bit of artificial remorse and listed the store she saw right next to Madame Malkin's.

The boy coughed, hiding a snort of amusement.

"My dear dear boy!" the shop lady exclaimed, "You should have announced your presence! Look at me, I was just about to completely neglect you there for the next ten minutes!"

"That's quite alright," Harry replied kindly, "I don't mind waiting."

"No, no," the lady insisted, "it's no trouble at all. Please, stand next to Draco."

"That's Mr. Malfoy to you," came the voice from the dais.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Malfoy. And may I ask your name, sweetheart?"

"You can call me Sabre," Harry said as she stepped onto the dais to the left of the blond boy.

"That's an odd name," remarked said boy.

"And Draco is just so very common," retorted Harry.

"Touché."

The shop lady bustled around and began to take Harry's measurements. At the last possible moment, Harry remembered the weights she wore and reached her magic out to make them intangible so that the tape measurer simply pressed her clothing through the weights. The comforting weight, however, remained.

"And what, may I ask, is your name, Ma'am?" Harry asked politely.

"Of course she's Madame Malkin. Didn't you read the sign outside?" the blond quipped, very rudely in Harry's opinion as the question had not been directed at him.

Nevertheless, she had to respond. "Yes, and every goblin inside Gringotts is named Gringotts."

"Mm," Malfoy hummed evasively.

"So," the Malfoy began again after several moments of silence besides the shuffling sounds as Madame Malkin took Harry's measurements and went out back to retrieve suitable robes. "Is this your first year at Hogwarts?"

"I will be a first year student come September," said Harry, carefully avoiding a lie. Technically, the room beneath Dumbledore's office _did_ count as Hogwarts. "What about you?"

"It's my first year too," affirmed the blond. "I am fairly excited to go to Hogwarts. It's a most excellent school for wizards, did you know?"

"Well, I suppose I know now."

"I'm going to be in Slytherin most definitely. What house do you think you will be in?"

Harry thought back to the books from so long ago and recalled that Slytherin was for the cunning, Hufflepuff for the loyal, Ravenclaw for the clever, and Gryffindor for the brave. However, to play the role of a relatively ignorant muggleborn, she should not know this.

"I haven't a clue. Care to explain the house system?" she asked.

"You don't know?!" the blond boy exclaimed and would have spun around to stare at Harry if Madame Malkin had not come to tighten his robes.

"Would I ask if I knew?"

The tension in Malfoy's shoulders disappeared as he regained his bearings. "Are you a... muggleborn?"

"Hm?"

"A mudblood."

Behind him, Madame Malkin gasped.

"Ah," Harry mused. "Am I correct in assuming that you are asking as to whether or not my parents are of wizarding blood?"

"That would be correct. How did you know?"

"The second word is obviously a derogatory term and as it is stating that the blood is filthy and murky like mud, there is a high chance that you care about blood purity. However, that could mean either blood purity as in between noble and common people as you most definitely sound... aristocratic or blood purity as in wizarding or not. Since the first term you used should be synonymous with the second and most likely means born to muggles, it should be blood purity referring to wizarding blood. It is highly probable that wizards are sensitive about magical heritage as certain... muggles are sensitive to skin color, race, and ethnicity."

"You're very... logical."

"Mm," Harry hummed noncommittally.

"So. Are you?"

"Yes. I am." Harry straight out lied as she turned her head to meet the pureblood's eyes.

Molten gold met slate grey and the blond boy's mouth dropped open just a bit. There was silence for a moment as even Madame Malkin froze.

"Will that be a problem?" Large golden eyes stared defiantly at the still boy just one pedestal away.

With an expression that looked almost like remorse, the blond boy broke eye contact and turned away. "A Malfoy does not associate with impure beings."

"Very well." The tone noticeably lowered in temperature. "Madame Malkin, will you show me your selection of gloves?"

"Ye-- yes, of course dear!" the poor woman stammered as she smoothed her robes. "Come right this way. We can look at the cloaks and hats as well."

The pair made it halfway to the doorway into the accessories section when an aristocratic voice spoke up again from the dais. "My purchases, Madame?"

"Of-- of course!" Madame Malkin quickly shuffled to remove the robes from the Malfoy and folded them neatly. She set them with the rest of his purchases, right next to the dragon hide gloves he had chosen earlier. "That will be sixty three galleons and thirteen sickles, Mr. Malfoy."

Wordlessly, Draco Malfoy untied a bag of money and withdrew the required amount. He claimed his purchases and left the store, expression completely stoic.

"The-- the gloves, Sabre dear."

Harry watched Draco Malfoy's retreating back until it vanished around a corner before offering Madame Malkin a compliant smile. "Of course."

--

Flourish and Blotts was a bookstore stocked with books of all kinds. Harry quickly purchased her schoolbooks and meandered off to the section of the store labeled for "recent history." She picked out a couple of books that looked promising and promptly made her way towards the counter.

The middle aged man behind the check-out counter introduced himself as Letus Flourish and Harry had to contain a snort. Perhaps in the wizarding world, people all named their stores after themselves after all. She let her eyes wander to a man who looked quite similar to Mr. Flourish and debated with herself as to the identity of that employee. Mr. Blotts or Mr. Flourish's relative?

"Oh, that's Blacqink Blotts. He's my associate." Mr. Flourish smiled merrily as he rang up the purchases.

Harry grinned affably as she reached for her money bag.

"Seven galleons and seven knuts."

As she dropped the exact amount into the man's hand, Harry inquired casually, "Mr. Flourish, do you happen to have past editions of the Daily Prophet for sale?"

"Of course, my good lad!" Flourish exclaimed. "From which date would you like?"

"How about for the past twenty years?"

"Very well. Please follow me."

Flourish led Harry into the storage room where dusty books were strewn all over the place. In one corner, however, stood a huge heap of newspaper. Methodically, Flourish summoned a large tied packet of newspaper from each year. Altogether, they made quite an impressive pile.

Harry gazed pensively at Letus Flourish. "Mr. Flourish... I think the pile might just be taller than me."

Flourish let loose a long throaty chuckle. "Of course, my good lad! I will shrink it for you right this minute."

"Thank you."

"It will be fifty six galleons for twenty years, my boy."

Harry placed the requested amount upon the floor behind a pile of dusty books, but when Flourish walked over to retrieve the gold nuggets, Harry lashed out with his magic. Cool silver surrounded the man's head for about a second or two, and then promptly vanished.

Harry pocketed the shrunken newspapers and waited for the man to come to his senses. A couple of minutes was all it took.

"Well," the man was dazed as he looked around. "I was about to show you the newspapers, wasn't I?"

"Do not concern yourself, Mr. Flourish. I have decided that I no longer require them. Good day, sir."

--

Ollivander's was... creepy to say the least. There was a musty scent to the store that gave Harry a ridiculous urge to wrinkle her nose.

"Well! What do we have here?" A raspy old voice spoke from the shadows.

"I am Sabre North. I would like to purchase a wand. Can you help me?" Harry stared stoically as a strange old man walked out from behind a large pile of thin boxes.

His hair was white and frazzled, as if in bad condition, and his eyes were curiously pale, almost white in color.

His gaze unnerved Harry and she immediately checked her reigns on her magic. Completely secured. There was nothing to worry about. So then why did she feel like the old man cold see through all her secrets?

"I am Mr. Ollivander," the man spoke at last. "Please, stand here and I will measure you for a wand."

Harry walked obediently to the indicated spot and waited patiently as Ollivander measured every which way, including between her nostrils.

"Did you know, young boy, that the wand chooses the wizard?"

"No." Harry gave a small smile. "In that case, is it possible that a wizard is unchosen by any wand?"

"Not that I have ever found," replied Ollivander easily.

"That is somewhat reassuring, sir."

Ollivander chose a narrow box on the highest shelf and tittered a bit on his tiptoes as he retrieved the box. He removed a slender wooden stick that Harry supposed was a wand.

"Here, try this."

Harry took it and waved it a bit. Immediately, a narrow box from the back levitated over to them.

"Well," pondered Harry. "What does that mean?"

Ollivander snatched the box from the air and removed the top. "It means that that wand is not for you. However, this one may be."

Harry handed the wand she was holding to Ollivander and retrieved the wand from the box. Immediately, sparks of green and silver began spouting from the tip.

"Is that supposed to be good?"

"Yes. Phoenix feather and holly wood. 11 inches. The wand has chosen you."

"Wonderful. How much will this cost?"

"It will amount to twelve galleons."

Harry handed him the indicated amount.

"But, it is curious."

"What is curious?" Harry asked, slightly agitated. She had a strange urge to get away from the old man's eyes as soon as possible.

"The phoenix that produced your phoenix feather has produced only one other. The man that wand chose did great things. Terrible, but great. I'm sure we can expect great things from you too."

Harry smiled, but it was strained. "I'm sure I will be utterly unspectacular. I am but an ordinary muggleborn."

"Oh?" Ollivander looked surprised at this. "You are muggleborn?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "And this is my first year at Hogwarts."

"Well, good luck to you. I have a feeling you will need it."

King's Cross station was extremely crowded. People of the nonmagic variety hustled from one end to another, busy as bees.

Harry stood, motionless, for a moment or too, hand resting lightly upon her small compact suitcase just inches away from her. She stood between platforms 9 and 10 and stared at the only thing between the two platforms. A brick pillar.

Well. It looked like platform 9 3/4 was through that pillar.

Concentrating, she gathered a thread of magic to prod at the barrier and found that it was indeed a spell that transformed it into a portal of some sort. She stared a bit longer and soon, green tendrils of magic appeared in sight. They were ghostly, pale, and translucent; hauntingly beautiful in an unexplainable way.

Upon closer inspection, the tendrils were woven in a certain formation, a pattern if you will. It was intricate and detailed, and within her memories, she finally located an identical pattern. From the book of runes, there was a part about portals leading from one part of space to another. With this knowledge in mind, Harry smiled and stepped through the wall.

A rush of noise and sound met her ears. Platform 9 3/4 had just as many people, except the place was bigger. Families gathered all over the place, mothers kissing their children, siblings chattering. Apparently, this was a most auspicious event.

As unobtrusively as possible, Harry tugged her suitcase along. She treaded around the happy families and made her way onto the train. There, she began a search for an empty compartment.

Although many people were still outside, talking to their families, Harry found that a good amount of people were already on the train. An empty compartment did not come as easily as she'd have thought.

Finally, somewhere near the end of the train, she located an unoccupied space. She eased her way inside and easily stored her trunk in the shelves above. As not everyone was yet on the train, there wasn't much else to do but relax and wait for the train to start.

Soon, a mop of red hair popped into his compartment. "D'you have space for one more?"

Harry smiled magnanimously. "Of course. Come in. I am Sabre North. What is your name?"

The boy shuffled in, lugging an old brown trunk after him. "My name's Ron Weasley," the boy replied without making eye contact.

The redhead then proceeded to struggle for a few minutes, arms straining as he lifted the apparently hefty weight of his homely trunk.

At this, Harry rose in a stretch and lent an aiding hand, deftly pushing at the bottom so that it smoothly slid into place atop the shelf.

"Thanks mate!" the redhead exclaimed, finally relaxing his sadly abused muscles.

"Not a problem, Weasley."

"Just call me Ron," insisted Ron Weasley. "Say, are you a first year too?"

"I am."

"Do you have siblings who were here before you?"

"I can't say I do."

"Well, you're lucky then. Or rather, I'm very unlucky. My siblings have all been spectacular in some way or other."

"Then you shall have to find another way to be spectacular, then."

"Yeah." The boy grumbled. "Easy for you to say."

"Ron. How many brothers have you had before you?" inquired Harry, genuinely curious.

"Five. Charlie who's graduated and works with dragons in Romania. Bill has graduated and is working at Gringotts as a curse breaker. Percy's still here, unfortunately, and a Prefect. Perfectly snobby, if you ask me. The position has gone to his head. And last, but certainly the most terrible, Fred and George, or rather Gred and Forge if you ask them. They're twins and two years above us, but for all the world, they can prank people like no other."

Harry smiled sympathetically. "That must be a lot to live up to."

"Tell me about it."

Thankfully, it was at this time that the train started moving. The two eleven year olds sat down, preparing for the long ride to Hogwarts.

A few minutes passed before the sound of wheels grew closer and closer.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Oh, that's just the trolley. This lady brings it around the train all the time. She has a lot of candy and junk food on it. It's absolutely wicked!" Ron's eyes lit up at the thought of junk food before his head drooped. He rummaged unenthusiastically in his pockets and took out three homemade sandwiches.

"And what is that?" Harry asked again.

"Oh, these are my mum's corned beef sandwiches."

Harry stared at them with interest when Ron suddenly added, "My family doesn't have much money." The redhead looked up defiantly into Harry's eyes.

"My family doesn't cook for me," Harry replied easily. It was true enough. She didn't _have_ a family and most definitely not a mother to cook for her.

The sound of wheels stopped and the compartment door slid open. A kind old lady smiled at the two. "Would you like to buy anything, dearies?"

The trolley before the lady was three shelves high and stuffed to the brim with pastries and candy. Harry looked at it with interest. There wasn't a single bit of muggle junk food.

"I'll have one of each," she decided.

After paying fifty-four galleons for the snacks, Harry spread them out on the seats. She opened a bag of 'Chocolate Frogs' and six individually packed lumps fell out. "What exactly is this?" she asked as she unwrapped one of said lumps.

"It's a chocolate frog..." replied Ron. "Merlin, you're a muggleborn!"

"I am." Harry startled as the lump of chocolate came to life and leapt from her hands, but quick reflexes from years of assassin training saved the treat from the open window. "They jump!" Harry laughed, brimming with childish delight.

"Yes, they do." Ron nodded knowledgeably. "They have an enchantment on them. But don't worry, it wears off after a while. And look at your card. See who you've got. It might be one of the rare ones."

Harry looked at the card that was still lying in the wrappers.

"ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

Currently Head master of Hogwarts.

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel.

Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling."

So, this was the old man from her childhood. It was somewhat nice to learn some information, however general, about the man. Grindelwald was that Dark Lord before Voldemort. It was fairly obvious by now, if not before, that Dumbledore was most definitely a force to be reckoned with. He had worked with dragons for a time. Now that was interesting and most definitely unexpected. And then there was the bit about alchemy with the famous Nicolas Flamel who was able to create the philosopher's stone that was able to produce the elixir of life and change things into gold. That tidbit was most definitely interesting. As for chamber music and tenpin bowling, Harry would keep it in mind.

"Oh, Albus Dumbledore." Ron's voice brought Harry out of her thoughts. "I've already got lots of those. It's a nice hobby to collect cards. You should start your own collection. I think I've got six Morganas. I could give some to you."

Harry smiled apologetically. "No, that's really alright. I've never had much use for trading cards in the muggle world either."

Just then, their compartment door slid open and a small blond boy entered, followed by two larger and more muscular boys. Harry noted that the two boys had a dull glaze in their eyes, signifying either poisoning or low intelligence. She was fairly certain it was the latter.

Harry was so engrossed in analyzing whether the muscle was genetic or hard-earned-- secretly jealous of all who were born with superior genetics in that area since _she_ had had to train so incredibly hard to attain her reasonable strength-- that she did not pay any heed at all to their blond leader, or her companion's reaction.

"Malfoy!" Ron's voice once again ripped her from her contemplations.

Harry flicked her eyes to the boy she had met in the robes shop, friendly smile in place. Draco locked gazes with Sabre for but a second before averting his eyes to settle on the Weasley.

"My name is Draco Malfoy."

Ron Weasley burst out into laughter. "Draco? What kind of name is _Draco_?"

Harry almost sighed at the lack of tact.

The blond boy sneered. "And there's no asking who _you_ are. Red hair, worn robes. Most definitely a Weasel, poor and with more kids than can be afforded."

Harry decided that it was imperative that she defuse the situation before it got violent. "Draco is a wonderful name, referring to the constellation or the majestic dragons," she cut in diplomatically, a friendly mask firmly in place. "And large families are very nice. Warm, fun, and always filled with love. I think the question right now is Draco Malfoy, why did you come into this compartment in the first place? Was there a matter you wished to inquire about?"

The two boys glared at each other, only mildly assuaged by the pleasant words, but Draco chose to make his inquiry. "I have heard that Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived, is on the train today. Have either of you seen him?"

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "I haven't. Ron, have you?"

Ron scowled, but replied. "No."

It was fortunate, Harry decided, that she had read up on all the current events, courtesy of the newspapers she had pseudo-bought from Mr. Flourish. She knew that on Halloween, fifteen months after she and Longbottom were born, Lord Voldemort had attacked the Longbottom's residence, killing both the child's parents and rendering the boy the only one to live from an attack by Voldemort. Neville had apparently deflected the Dark Lord's killing curse, the first person alive to ever do so.

Well, at least that was the public version. Internally, Harry had her doubts. When she had first learned of her ability to do magic at the assassins' place, she had been eager to work on some of the magic that she had read about in the room beneath Dumbledore's office. The first thing she had experimented with was Occlumency, the magic of defending the mind. A generous side effect was that occlumency, once mastered, would allow the wizard or witch to travel through the mindscape, including the memories.

Although her memories from before the age of two were sadly buried very deep inside, Harry was at last able to access them. From what she had seen, it had been very traumatic for her baby mind, but more importantly, it seemed that Voldemort had attacked and killed _her_ parents. He had also tried to kill her with the killing curse and failed, destroying his own body in the process. Now, she was left with a dreadful scar.

Fortunately, Voldemort shouldn't be able to locate her. When the Dark Lord had attacked, the water silk had rendered her eyes hazel and her hair dark brown. Those looks were associated with every memory alive labeled Harry Potter. That had only lasted the first several years of her life. Now, she was somewhat thankful for the appearance change that had forced her to leave the assassin quarters. No one would be able to link Sabre North with Harry Potter, except perhaps the assassins, but even they could not know what she looked like at the moment. It would, quite frankly, take a miracle for anyone to track Harry Potter down.

However, if Harry was indeed the real Boy/Girl-Who-Lived, she was definitely most thankful towards Neville Longbottom for taking the title and all the responsibilities it lugged with it.

Moreover, Harry was highly relieved that she would not ask about this Boy-Who-Lived, which would lead to the mention of the Dark Lord, which would then inevitably lead to the mention of Lucius Malfoy's dubious ties to said Dark Lord, which Harry was almost one hundred percent sure existed.

To simplify things even further, Draco Malfoy took the denials to sighting the Boy-Who-Lived as a cue to leave, curiously avoiding Harry's eyes yet again. That was something to muse over.

"Phew," Ron sighed as the compartment door slid back shut. "Those Malfoys just really get on my nerves. I think there's been a Weasley-Malfoy feud since forever. And just because they're rich they think they can look down on us."

Sabre smiled good-naturedly. "I don't know about the Weasley-Malfoy feud, but I don't think you should waste your time at Hogwarts fueling it."

Ron rolled his eyes. "And what was that about 'Draco is such a great name! For the constellation and the _majestic_ dragons, right' ? It nearly made me sick."

Sabre chuckled. "You were the one who antagonized him first, laughing at his name. I think he was really hurt by that. _I_ was the one trying to get him to leave. And plus, have you seen those two behind him? I would kill to be born that strong."

Ron snorted. "I'd kill not to have their brains. Those two were Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle."

"You know a lot of people," Sabre noted.

"Yeah, well, I know most everyone in the pureblood cycle. It's just, everyone knows everyone, you know?"

"I'm sure if I strain my imagination, I can relate."

"Yeah, well, it's nothing to be too proud of. By the end of this year, you'll know everyone too."

"Hm." Sabre turned to Ron, eyes alight with mischief. "Let's go and meet the good people right now. You know, establish relations and all. We wouldn't want everyone to make friends with Draco Malfoy and end up as outcasts, now would we?"

Ron snorted again, but followed as Sabre left the compartment. In his hands, gripped tightly, was a rat with a missing toe. Sabre eyed it briefly, but didn't say anything.

The two were walking when a hurried girl crashed into them-- or more like crashed into Ron when Sabre stepped out of the line of collision. The girl and Ron both sprawled onto the train corridor.

"Ugh," Ron groaned as he rubbed his head where he swore he could feel a lump.

The girl sprawled on top of Ron scrambled up quickly before hurriedly apologizing. "I am _so_ sorry. Really. Very very sorry."

Sabre bent down and pulled Ron to his feet before turning his attention to the girl.

Brown haired and brown eyed, the girl looked ordinary enough. Except for the glint in her irises that betrayed an undying thirst for knowledge. 'Bookworm,' Sabre immediately labeled her.

The girl, who was already changed into her wizarding robes, patted her long bushy hair and eyed the two boys with curiosity. One was dreadfully cute, bordering handsome, and the other redheaded with a smattering of freckles. The latter had a smudge of soot on his nose which the girl readily pointed out.

"You have a smudge of dirt on your nose." She motioned to a space just to the right of the bridge of her nose.

The redhead rubbed the place and stared at his fingers.

"It's gone," the girl proclaimed.

"Um. Thank you," the redhead replied awkwardly.

The brown haired girl beamed. "You're welcome. I'm Hermione Granger. Who are you two?"

The terribly cute boy with chestnut hair and golden eyes replied. "I am Sabre North. First year at Hogwarts."

"Same as him," said the redhead. "And I'm Ron Weasley."

"Oh." The girl eyed Sabre's jeans and sweatshirt and Ron's sweats and maroon sweater. "You two ought to change into your robes soon. The train ride is almost half over."

"Thank you for the reminder," Sabre said at the same time Ron exclaimed, "That means that the ride isn't even half over!"

"Well, it was nice meeting you two," the girl, Hermione Granger, said as she walked past the two. Briefly, she stopped and turned around. "Oh, and have you by any chance seen a toad? Neville's lost his."

"The Boy-Who-Lived?" Ron asked with interest.

"Yes," Hermione nodded.

"We're very sorry but we haven't seen it," said Sabre as he pulled Ron in the opposite direction before Ron could say anymore about the Boy-Who-Lived. Apparently, Ron was a fan.

"Hey!" exclaimed Ron as he let himself be dragged away. "I didn't get to ask where the Boy-Who-Lived is!"

"Don't worry, we know it's in this direction since she just came from here." Sabre heard the sound of seven distinct voices coming from a particular compartment and knocked briefly before sliding the door open. Inside sat three unknown boys and three unknown girls.

Standing there was Draco Malfoy, conversing with a one of the boys. His two followers were nowhere to be seen.

"I can introduce you to people who can help make you strong," Sabre heard Draco proclaim.

"So this is Neville Longbottom," Sabre deduced, fixing his golden orbs upon the mousy boy Draco had been speaking to. Short brown hair and eyes of a lighter brown. He looked timid and awkward with his round face and small body, not at all what one would assume from the title Boy-Who-Lived.

"Y- yes," stuttered the petit boy at the same time that Draco whirled around.

Sabre offered Neville a kind smile before switching his eyes to the standing boy. "Ah, so Draco, you have finally found him. We bumped into a Hermione Granger on our way here. She was searching for Neville's toad?"

Neville actually squeaked before replying, "No! Right after she left, we found Trevor on top of my trunk."

"Ah," said Sabre. "Then I will go tell the poor girl that she need not continue searching. She was really putting forth a lot of effort."

The golden eyed boy turned and left the compartment, leaving Ron behind to talk to his hero.

Sabre found Hermione Granger some way down the corridor, inside an empty compartment. She was searching in the shelves for the trunks.

"Hermione." The girl jumped from her perch and turned to look at the newcomer. "Neville's toad, Trevor, has already been located. Shall I escort you back?"

The girl sighed with relief. "I should have known something like that happened when I didn't see anyone come after me."

The pair walked back to the packed compartment where Sabre found that Draco Malfoy had left in the time he was gone. "What happened to Malfoy?"

"I don't know what happened. He left immediately after you left." It was a strawberry blond girl who answered the question. "Do you two know each other?"

"I don't think he quite likes me," Sabre said dryly. "I've met him once in Diagon Alley, but ever since I told him that I'm a muggleborn, he's been avoiding me."

"Me too!" exclaimed Hermione and a dark-skinned boy.

"I'm Dean Thomas," said the dark-skinned boy. "I only found out that I'm a wizard this summer. My parents went fair crazy, they did. We didn't even believe it was real until we got a finely detailed brochure sent by owl."

"I'm Seamus Finnegan," the last boy said. "I'm a half-blood wizard _and_ a half-blood Irish. Not completely any of them."

Several people laughed and the strawberry blond girl introduced herself. "I'm Lavender Brown. Half-blood as well. Mother's a full-blood and father's a muggleborn."

The only two unnamed people left were two twin girls of what seemed to be Indian descent. "I'm Parvati Patil," said one girl. "And I'm Padma Patil," said the other.

"My name is Sabre North," said Sabre.

"And I'm Ron Weasley just for the heck of it," said Ron, even though he had surely already introduced himself to the Boy-Who-Lived in the time that Sabre had gone to retrieve Hermione Granger.

The seven seated people (Ron had already seated himself) shuffled around and made room for the two new additions to their group.

The nine people chatted amongst themselves for the remainder of the train ride. They found that Sabre North was a friendly and polite fellow and that Seamus had a wicked sense of humour. They also noticed that Neville was unusually timid but very nice and that Hermione was slightly bossy but incredibly intelligent. Ron was a generally fun guy. Lavender was outgoing and sentimental and Dean loved football, "not _American _football which is just people in overly large paddings but football of the kicking variety." It was duly noted that Padma and Parvati did not like being mixed up and that Padma was the one with the braided hair.

Among them, only one had an inkling of what lie ahead of them at Hogwarts, School of Wizardry and Witchcraft.

A/N: Uneventful, I know, but it's the start of Hogwarts. Introductions are a drag. Harry has to establish friendly relations with everyone. And I do mean _everyone_. This will allow him to move without suspicion from her peers since we all know that eventually, she _will_ do something suspicious. ; )

Just to keep track of how much wizarding money Harry has left.

400 galleons

63 galleons 13 sickles

56 galleons

12 galleons

54 galleons

214 galleons 4 sickles

cauldron ( among other unmentioned things )

190 galleons 2 sickles 3 knuts

By the way, I know that many people have written the 'if Neville was the Boy-Who-Lived' scenario. For most people, they make Neville extremely spoiled and arrogant, completely different from his persona in canon. I, however, disagree with this characterization. In my mind, Neville's timid nature is still there. I believe his grandmother to be a very stern and strict guardian and he still misses his parents a lot. Also, his memory is still very bad and he still retains his affinity with plants. As for potions... well we'll see.


End file.
